


Die Happy

by theorangewitch



Series: The Art of Doubt [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Found Family, Graphic Depictions of Leftism, Humanformers, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:18:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 83,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorangewitch/pseuds/theorangewitch
Summary: A cop, a City Councilor, a journalist, a young revolutionary, several warring crime syndicates, and even more faceless, unknowable, sinister corporations, and a city on the knife's edge of disaster.





	1. Is This Dystopia?

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. So. A few things to note about this fic. 
> 
> 1\. It's loosely (very loosely) based on Cyberpunk 2020/What we've seen of Cyberpunk 2077, though really I just borrowed some names/the general concept of the city setting  
> 2\. Vis-a-vis continuities, it's based mostly on the IDW G1 continuity as I noted in the tags, especially the first ten chapters, which are based heavily on the Shadowplay arc of MTMTE, because that's what I'm most familiar with. Though overall, this fic is a pastiche of many continuities.  
> 3\. Going off of that, I'm more or less playing Calvinball with characterization.  
> 4\. I'm going to finish this fic before I upload the rest of it. I have a tendency to abandon fics and I don't want to leave anyone hanging just as they're getting to the good part. I'm getting this first chapter up now because of the Hugo Awards thing. I want to be able to say that I've written Hugo Award nominated Transformers fanfiction.  
> 5\. So far, I've written ten chapters, about 21k words. Forty damn pages in the Google doc which is the most I've written since I wrote a novel.  
> 6\. If you've read any of my Dungeons and Dragons/Critical Role/TAZ stuff, I know this is a big departure. But this is who I am now. And believe it or not, Transformers is good. Some of the time. Read Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye for some canon gay and trans alien robots. Many of them.  
> 7\. I can't believe I used the word "pastiche" here.

The night that Orion Pax arrested Megatron was the night after a shootout broke out in Paksa-Grazie between members of the crime syndicate known as the Myriad and a smaller rival gang known as the Romeos. Eight dead, four Romeos, three Myriads, one civilian. Chief had laughed about the dead gang members. “Makes our job easier,” he said. “Shame about the civilian, though. Why can’t those lowlifes keep themselves under control?” 

The night before that, Orion had taken a walk in Nightbloom Park in Iacon Heights with Councilor Shockwave. They’d known each other for more than a year by then. Orion met them outside the park gates in the shadow of the purple dusk and Shockwave handed him a paper cup from a nearby coffee shop. 

“Coffee?” Orion asked. “At this hour?”

Shockwave laughed. “Never too late for coffee when you’re a City Councilor, my friend. But no. Tea. Apparently you’re a peppermint fan?” 

Orion took the tea. “How did you know?”

“It’s my job to know the goings-on in this city.” Then they laughed again. “Roller told me. Said he used to pick up you guys’ orders when he worked down at the station.”

“You said you wanted to talk to me?” Orion said. “About a trial next week.” 

“Yes, Spectrum of Nyon,” Shockwave answered. “You arrested her last week for trespassing on the Thyranotos campus.” 

“Yes, the journalist, what about her?” 

“She’s a friend.”

Orion sighed. “Shockwave, I think you’re a good person, a better person than me, certainly, possibly even than most in Cybertron, but I can’t get her released. Even if that were in my power—”

Shockwave put a hand on his shoulder, interrupting him. “You didn’t let me finish. She’s a friend, and that’s why I need you to make sure she ends up in jail.” They lowered their voice. “Because I fear her life may be in danger if she’s released.” 

Orion stopped in his tracks. Lowering his voice too, he asked, “Why do you think that?”

“Because she found something before you arrested her. Something big. And she has reason to believe that Thyranotos knows what she found. C’mon, we have to keep walking or else we’ll look suspicious.”

“Right.” The last traces of the sun were fading from the sky, and Orion took a long sip of his tea.

“Roller’s got a friend in Cybertronian Central who’s promised to keep an eye on her,” Shockwave continued. “And she’s there now awaiting trial. But I need you to make sure she stays there, at least until the story is done.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

And the night after that was the shootout, and the afternoon after that Chief slapped down a list onto Orion’s desk. “Councilors Proteus and Veil have put together a list of Myriad and Romeo members whose names and whereabouts are known. There are fifteen in our precinct. They want them arrested ASAP.” Chief was fond of saying ‘ASAP’, and he never pronounced it like ‘A-S-A-P’, but instead always said ‘A-sap’. 

Orion looked over the list and read the first part of it aloud, “Sonic, Boom, Impactor, Megatron, Veritas, Dreadwing, do any of these ring any bells to you?” 

“Can’t say they do, but I don’t associate with criminals, now do I, Orion?”

“S’pose not,” Orion mumbled. “Looks like there are addresses for maybe a third of them, how do Proteus and Veil know that they live here?” 

Chief shrugged. “Dunno. I can’t speak to the methods of our very wise and very powerful city council.” 

Orion rolled his eyes internally.  _ Maybe I should have Shockwave take a look at this _ , he wondered. He knew that Shockwave didn’t think very highly of Proteus, at least. “In Militech’s pocket,” they’d said.  _ Or _ , a voice said in his head,  _ You could just do your damn job. These are gang members, not political prisoners _ . 

“Right, I’ll show this to Springarm and Wheelarch. We’ll divide and conquer, see if we can track these people down.” 

“‘Attaboy,” Chief said, walking away. “And tell one of them to pick up a coffee for me when you’re in there. And tell him to bring it to me ASAP.” 

“Will do, Chief.” 

Orion ended up taking the first five. Of them, only three had listed addresses. Might as well check there first. Sonic and Boom (brothers, probably, with names like those), apparently lived together in an apartment in a nearby Megabuilding. The building was bustling at this time of day, people flooding in and out, crowding the sidewalks chatting and drinking or checking their phones or the news feeds on the enormous screens that lined every balcony. Those who noticed him and his uniform gave him a wide berth. The people here were distrustful of cops at best.  _ And with good reason.  _ He reread the list of names and addresses.  _ Sonic and Boom of Paksa-Grazie, Apartment 1097, Megabuilding #201 on Queen Street, Lower Iacon, Impactor of The Rust Valley, unknown address in Lower Iacon, Megatron of Tarn, 113 West James Street, Lower Iacon, Veritas of Nyon, unknown address in Lower Iacon. Proteus and Veil really could’ve done a little more research before sending this over to us.  _

He made his way up to apartment 1097. The higher levels were emptier than the lower levels, though that wasn’t saying much. He knocked on the door with the side of his hand. “Police, open up.” No response came.  _ Like they’d open the door. Even if they’re in there, which they probably aren’t.  _ The door was paper thin, so he could probably bust it open, but it wasn’t worth the effort. If Sonic and Boom weren’t home, he’d just have to come back later. Just as he was about to walk away, the door beeped and slid open. 

Orion whipped around. At first glance, he didn’t see anyone there. But then he looked down to find a crumpled form curled up on the floor. The person groaned, their hands trembling against the scuffed doormat. He immediately knelt down to attend to them. They were thin, unhealthily so, and their bare arms were covered in cuts and bruises. “Are you alright?”

The person only groaned again. 

He rolled them over. Their front side didn’t look much better. Their eyes were open, but glazed over, and circled with deep black marks. “Are you Sonic? Or Boom?” he asked, not really expecting a response. 

To his surprise, the person coughed out a laugh. “Fuck. No,” they wheezed, their eyes focusing in on Orion’s face. “You looking for them, cop?” 

“I was. What happened?”

“Left half an hour ago. Dunno where they went.” 

Orion shook his head. “I meant what happened to  _ you _ .” 

“Myriad thugs thought it’d be fun to beat up a homeless addict, just ‘cause someone higher up the chain thought I’d skimped the last time I paid ‘im.” 

Orion slid an arm under theirs, pulling them to their feet. “Are you high?”

“Not anymore. Was when they found me.” They laughed again, and again it devolved into coughing. A little bit of blood sprayed out of the back of their throat. “I’m so stupid.”

“There’s a clinic near here,” Orion said, pulling them out of the door. “It’s kind of a secret, because they take non-Trauma Team ranked patients. So keep it hush-hush, but if I take you there, they can make sure you get the care you need. I’ll be back for Sonic and Boom later.” 

They ran a hand down their face. “Thank you. These clinic people; they’re crazy.  _ You’re  _ crazy. You could get arrested for this.” 

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” 

After dropping them at the clinic and sending a message to Wheelarch and Springarm about what happened, he headed towards West James Street. It was little more than an alley, not too far from the station. By the time he found it, the sun was setting. If Megabuilding #201 was packed, West James Street was nearly deserted. All of the shops there were closed, windows boarded up, grates pulled over the doors. The only person he saw was a man sitting on the stoop of a store whose door was held shut with a zip tie. He was smoking, and he gave Orion the evil eye as he walked past. 

Finally he came to 113 West James, which was yet another boarded up door. This door, however, had a sign on it, written in sharpie on a piece of notebook paper and taped up haphazardly.  _ Looking for Megatron?  _ it read,  _ Knock on the downstairs door!  _ And then it had an arrow pointing to a metal door positioned down a half flight of stairs from the sign. 

So Orion knocked. He didn’t announce himself as police this time, though he didn’t know why. 

A moment later the door open, and a man about Orion’s age stood there. He was sturdily built, and fairly tall, with short, silvery hair. “Can I help you?” he asked. 

Orion flashed his badge. “Are you Megatron?”

“Will you arrest me if I say yes?” 

“Yes.”

“Oh. Then yes, I am.” 

Orion almost didn’t know how to respond. “Um, well, yes. I’m sorry to say that there’s a list of Myriad members with your name on it. So. You’re under arrest.” 

“Oh! Sorry. Go ahead and arrest me then.” Megatron stuck out his hands. 

“I’m gonna need you to turn around,” Orion pointed out. “I need to cuff your hands behind your back.”

“Right, sorry,” Megatron said, turning around. “D’you need to push me up against a wall too?” 

“No! I mean, not if you don’t—I mean, you’re cooperating, so—no.” He handcuffed Megatron’s hands. “I don’t have a car with me, but the station isn’t too far. Sorry if this is embarrassing.”

Megatron laughed. “I’ve experienced far worse. But y’know, I’ve never had a cop apologize to me so many times while arresting me.”

“Well, you seem nice, so I’m giving you the courtesy of my apologies. Not everyone gets them, I assure you.” 

“Oh, I believe you, Mister—?”

“Orion Pax. Orion Pax of Rodion Centre.”

“Nice to meet you Mister Orion Pax of Rodion Centre. Megatron of Tarn.” 

Chief had gone home by the time Orion got back to the station with Megatron, as had Wheelarch. Springarm was there, though, and he greeted Orion as he walked in the door. “At least you found one person from Proteus’ list,” he noted. “Wheelarch and I were SOL. Seems the addresses were outdated at best. Who’s this?” 

“Megatron,” Megatron said. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Springarm replied.

“Did Chief mention what he wanted us to do with anyone we brought in?” Orion asked.

“Nope. I don’t think he expected us to actually find anyone. Just stick him somewhere and then we’ll take him down to Central in the morning.” 

So that was how Orion Pax ended up sitting across from Megatron in the interrogation room. “So,” Megatron said, “am I gonna stay in here all night?”

“No,” Orion answered, “At some point I’ll put you in the holding cell. There’s a cot there. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions before we ship you downtown. Have you eaten?”

“Yup, all good. Is that your only question? If you wanted to take me out to dinner there are easier ways.” 

Orion ignored the come on and said, “According to this list I have you’re associated with the dangerous crime syndicate known as the Myriad. Is that true?”

“Well yes,” Megatron replied. “And no. It seems your friend was right about the list being out of date, because I haven’t been associated with the Myriad for oh, six months now? And boy, Galvatron is big mad about it but. You know. What can you do.” 

“Galvatron? The head of the Myriad?”

“The very. Kind of an ex-friend of a friend situation. See, I was kind of high up in the ranks? And then I was skimming off the top of his whole enterprise, money and weapons and favors and information, and then somebody couldn’t keep their snitch mouth shut and he found out. So he kicked me out, tried to have me assassinated, failed, and then I made it clear that any further attempts on my life would not end well for anyone he’d send after me. So. I imagine it was him who leaked my name and address to you all. Wants me out of the way, I suppose. ‘Cause you know, stealing from the Myriad was easy from the inside, and it’s only a little harder from the outside,” Megatron finished, a smug smile plastered across his face. 

“That. Is a lot to unpack,” Orion finally said after a lengthy silence. “But I appreciate what I assume is your honesty. It takes some... _ chutzpah  _ to piss off Galvatron. Many consider him to be the most dangerous person in the city.” 

“Well, they’re wrong.” 

Orion almost laughed. “What, do you think it’s  _ you _ ?”

Then Megatron did laugh, and he said, “Me? God no, oh, fuck no. I’m not dangerous and I don’t want to be. But Galvatron? He’s dangerous, sure, but do you really think he’s more dangerous than anyone from Thyranotos? Or Militech? Galvatron has a nice little enterprise going on, sure, but he doesn’t have Iacon Heights and Paraíso under his thumb like they do. He doesn’t have City Councilors in his pocket. Orion—you’re smiling.”

And Orion realized that he was. “It’s nothing, it’s just—you remind me of a friend of mine.”

“You should introduce me. Your friend sounds smart.” 

“They are,” Orion said. “Why are you telling me all this anyway?” 

“It’s an interrogation!” Megatron exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “It’s in my best interest to tell the truth, is it not?”

Orion leaned back in his chair and considered the other man.  _ Shockwave would like him. Maybe even for the same reasons they like me.  _ “Listen, Megatron, you’re not associated with the Myriad anymore?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re not associated with any other established crime syndicate. The Romeos, for example?”

“Nope. I’m what you cops call a ‘loose cannon.’”

“And you won’t be associating with any one of them for the foreseeable future?”

“Not planning on it.”

“And you’re currently actively working against the Myriad?”

“I am still stealing from them, yes.”

“Then whatever Proteus and Veil might say, I think that it’s in our best interests to let you go. I’ll tell Springarm I’m taking you to the Cybertronian Central early so that you don’t have to stay here all night. And then I’ll take you home.”  _ Why are you doing this?  _ a voice in his head asked.  _ You’ll regret this. You can’t just flout the law at your convenience!  _ But Orion didn’t care. This made sense. It was right. 

“That is surprisingly subversive of you, Mister Orion Pax,” Megatron said. 

“Yeah, well, there’s more to me than meets the eye.” 

Megatron beamed from ear to ear and said, “I think I might like you.” And oh, he did have a nice smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So, Orion, you found me"  
> "Yes, well, Megatron, you are under arrest for--"  
> "Handcuff THIS"


	2. Saints and Lowlifes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I know I said I wouldn't be uploading any more until it was done, but I'm at least two thirds of the way there. 26 chapters, 62,000 words, and 116 pages on google docs so far! Woohoo! Anyway, I've had kind of a crummy week, and I need some validation, which is why I'm uploading chapter two now. This chapter is shorter than the first, and gets into some worldbuilding/introduces a character who's important for the rest of the story. Megatron also isn't in it, sorry to disappoint. Don't worry, though! He'll be back in chapter 4. 
> 
> Finally, I've decided to up the rating on this fic from T to M and add the Graphic Depictions of Violence warning, though there won't be any actual violence until later chapters. I will provide additional warnings on a chapter-by-chapter basis. This chapter contains brief, but explicit discussions of medical abuse.

The next morning brought Orion Pax two errands to run. The first was carried over from the evening before: Finding Sonic and Boom. A pair of nameless Myriad agents meant little to him. But two people who beat the shit out of a homeless addict? That required action. He brought Wheelarch and a cop car with him this time. “Two of them, two of us,” he explained. The second errand came in the form of a call from Shockwave as he and Wheelarch drove back out to Megabuilding #201. 

“Shockwave,” he said as he answered the phone. 

“Didn’t realize you were seeing someone,” Wheelarch remarked without taking his eyes off the road. 

Orion didn’t even do him the service of glaring at him. “What’s going on?”

“My friend in CCP. She has something for you. Something that she needs to give to me that I can’t pick up today. I’m stuck in meetings with Proteus all morning, then I’m in Paksa-Grazie this afternoon. The Myriad just had to go wild this week, huh?” Shockwave mused. “Anyway, she has something for me, and I think there are some things you two need to discuss. Drop by my place this evening. You know where it is, right? If not I can text you the address. See you.” And then Shockwave hung up before Orion could respond. 

“I think that my friend’s phone is bugged,” Orion told Wheelarch, staring at Shockwave’s contact name. 

This time Wheelarch did take his eyes of the road. “What makes you think that?”

“They weren’t talking right. Something’s going on.” 

“Huh. Weird.”

And then they pulled up outside of Megabuilding #201. It was only just after dawn, so this time, when they knocked on the door of apartment 1097, it opened immediately. This time, the person who answered was young, stocky, and had a mean look in his eye. 

“What’s your name?” Wheelarch asked. 

“Sonic,” the kid responded. “Whaddaya want from me, cops?”

“Sonic, you and your brother Boom are under arrest for association with the crime syndicate known as the Myriad, and for—“

“You have no proof!” Sonic exclaimed, his eyes going wide, wriggling away from Orion as Orion grabbed him by the shoulder. “Boom!” he called into the house, “Get the hell out of here, man!” 

“—and for assault and battery of a homeless individual,” Wheelarch finished. 

“You have no proof of that either! Whatever they said to you, they’re lying!” 

At that moment, Boom appeared in the doorway. “Sonic!” 

“Get out!” Sonic shouted. 

“Where?!” Boom replied. “We’re ten stories up and that’s the only door.” 

“You mind nabbing Boom over there?” Orion said to Wheelarch. He already had Sonic’s face mashed against the door frame and his hands cuffed behind his back. 

“Obliged,” Wheelarch replied. 

“Sonic, I found that person you two beat up yesterday,” Orion said. 

“Son of a—“ Sonic muttered. “Was wondering how they got away with injuries like that. If only they’d paid up, they wouldn’t have been in that situation.” 

“The lack of morals here is astounding,” Orion remarked. 

“Bold words from a pig like you,” Sonic snapped back.

Orion rolled his eyes. 

“I’m taking these two down to CCP,” Orion said after Wheelarch had shoved Boom into the back of the squad car. “I’ve got a couple of errands to run Downtown anyways. D’you want me to drop you back at the station?”

“If you don’t mind,” Wheelarch replied. “Apparently Springarm’s figured out a couple more addresses. And if you think you can handle these two on your own?”

Orion laughed. “Don’t insult me, Wheelarch.” 

When Orion arrived at Cybertronian Central Prison, there was someone waiting for him. “Long night?” Orion asked, getting out of the car and noting the dark circles under Prowl’s eyes. 

“You could say that,” Prowl replied. “Who have you got there?”

“Sonic and Boom, a pair of Myriad thugs noted for being on the Proteus-Veil list and for beating up a homeless person at their apartment in Lower Iacon. What are you doing here anyway?”

“I’m in charge of the list,” Prowl explained. “Proteus himself asked me to come down here and check on who from the list has been brought in and see what I can do vis-a-vis finding more information. More names, more addresses, you know the drill.” Prowl pulled out a tablet out and tapped on it. “There. Sonic and Boom are now accounted for. But I haven’t heard anything else from you or Chief yet. You haven’t brought anyone else down here?”

“Nope, haven’t found anyone else,” Orion said. “The list was a little light on specific addresses.” 

“Hm, how about Dreadwing then? Or Spinout? Or Megatron? According to this we have addresses for all three of them.”

“Springarm and Wheelarch were in charge of finding Dreadwing and Spinout. If they haven’t brought them in I don’t know what to tell you. I went to Megatron’s place yesterday, but it seemed pretty abandoned. No sign of anyone living there.” He kept his expression neutral. Prowl was hard to lie to. 

Prowl pursed his lips. “I see. Maybe you should check again. This says that Megatron is Myriad, and they’re trickier than some of their counterparts. They say Galvatron only lets the best into his good graces.” 

“If you really want me to,” Orion said. “If he’s so tricky, maybe he’s changed addresses.” 

“Maybe.”

“Where’s the warden anyway?” Orion asked. “I need to get in there.” 

“What for?” Prowl asked, tapping on his tablet. 

“I’ve got a suspect in there who’s awaiting trial and I think she’s got some information for me about another case.” Another lie, though a smaller one this time. Orion wiped a hand on his pants. 

“Hm. Go on in, then. Flash your badge at the door and ask for your person and they’ll bring her to you.”

“That seems dubious.”

“Take what you can get, Pax.” 

And so Orion took Prowl’s advice, and a few minutes later he found himself sitting across from Spectrum of Nyon at a table in the currently empty visiting room. She was a lovely woman, with smooth, dark skin and long, bright cyan braided hair. 

“How’s Shockwave?” was the first thing she asked. She kept her voice low. 

“They’re okay. Worried about you.”

“I’m okay,” Spectrum said. “Tell them Scuff is looking after me. And can you ask them to do try and get a message to my sister? I don’t know where she is, but I want her to know I was arrested but that I’m okay.” 

“I can do that. They tell me they have a plan for you. That I need to help you stay safe. Stay under Scuff’s protection.”

Spectrum nodded. “Yes, I thought that would be the case. I don’t know how far you can get me on a trespassing charge, but if you need to add some things you have my permission. 

“Okay, but you’ll need to help too. I wasn’t with you for most of the incident, and the security guards know that.”  

She snorted. “Like I haven’t lied before. I have something, too. For Shockwave. They tell me they’ll store it until it’s. Until. They tell me they’ll store it.” And then she slid two sheets of yellow legal paper across the table. “You can look at it. Not much in there, no evidence yet. But it’s all true.” And then she smiled painfully. “Unfortunately, it’s all true.” 

And Orion believed her. 

And after he left the building he read over the pages in his car. Her handwriting was bad, and it was scrawled in the way a person who’s in a rush scrawls: all the letters and words connected together and leaning rightwards. It read:

“This article is the truth, which is the only thing I can promise you about it, or about any of my writing. It is the truth: nothing more, and nothing less. If you don’t believe me, then read on and you will find more than enough evidence. This is the truth and the truth is this: Thyranotos has been performing genetic engineering experiments for over three decades now.

“Maybe you’re wondering, what’s wrong with genetic engineering? GMOs have been a fact of life for well over a century. The answer is there’s nothing wrong with genetic engineering when done for the right reasons. Genetically modified foods have helped prevent starvation all across the world, and genetic testing has helped prevent and cure hundreds of diseases that were once fatal. But Thyranotos does not have the good of humanity in mind. From what I’ve gathered, they don’t have a true end goal in mind at all. They simply appear to be testing the limits of science because they got bored of sitting on all of their money. Or else they’re trying to make more money, by selling their genetically engineered goods to the highest bidder.

“And that’s what makes matters worse. Because their genetically engineered goods are people. Yes, you read that right: people. Twenty-five years ago, after Thyranotos finished their experiments on rats, they began kidnapping, extorting, coercing, and/or bribing hundreds of women, many of whom were expecting mothers, all of whom were from the poorest sectors of the city: Paksa-Grazie, the Rust Valley, Tarn. Most if not all of these women are dead now, as are their genetically engineered children. The ones who live are subjected to continuous, painful, invasive, non-consensual experimentation without regard for their humanity, just as their mothers and siblings were in life.” 

Orion put the papers down and scrunched up his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was reading, and yet there it was. The truth in all its terrifying glory. 

It was a long drive from Downtown to Iacon Heights. Even longer with the weight of Spectrum’s pages weighing on his mind. When Shockwave opened the door to their apartment, the first thing they asked was, “Did you read it?”

“I read it,” Orion replied.

Shockwave stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind them. “My apartment is bugged. So is my phone. We can talk out here.”

Orion handed him the pages. “How long has she been working on this?” 

“Over a year now. She’s broken into the Thyranotos facility dozens of times, collecting evidence and sending it to me. She’s got videos and documents. She taught herself to hack and pick locks.” Shockwave gave a tense smile. “She’s impressive. But Orion—I’ve seen it. I’ve seen  _ them _ , the children who survived. Locked away in rooms with blank white walls and cots. Some of them are adults now, not much younger than you and me. And some of them are children still. And it’s—it’s horrifying.” 

“What can I do?” Orion asked, letting his voice rise in pitch. “I can’t—I dunno—stage a heist to free these kids.”

Shockwave took Orion’s hands in their own. They were smooth, soft, warm, and smelled faintly of lavender lotion. “Just make sure Spectrum survives long enough to publish her story. Kidnapping pregnant mothers and experimenting on them and their children won’t sit right with anyone, not matter how much money Thyranotos is throwing at them. Once the story is out, I can convince the Council to intervene. We’ll take it from there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Sonic and Boom's names as separate entities is wild because it looks like I'm writing Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction. I mean, what I AM writing is equally cringy, but you know.


	3. What Truth Demands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yahoo! I finished the whole story! It clocks in at 34 chapters, 35 counting the epilogue, and almost exactly 83,000 words. I'll be updating it twice weekly from here on out, on Mondays and Thursdays, which means that everything should be wrapped up by early September. 
> 
> With regards to this chapter, no Megatron again, but more Councilor Shockwave! This chapter also introduces Soundwave, whose characterization I'm playing pretty fast and loose with. I just think Soundwave's more interesting when they're snarky instead of stoic. She's also a girl. Other characters in this fic will have their genders changed, and you may have already noticed that my Shockwave uses they/them pronouns. 
> 
> Finally, you may want to start paying attention to the chapter titles. I put a lot of effort into coming up with them, and they hint at the plot. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! Next chapter will be up this Thursday!

Shockwave’s words should have been comforting, but they weren’t. How could they wait that long? However many weeks it would take for Spectrum to finish her story and attach her evidence and credibility to it? How could they let those people languish in the Thyranotos facility, even just for one day more? And he’d arrested her. It had worked out in the end, but the intent had still been punishment. It was too much to handle. 

What do you do when you find out something too terrible to comprehend? Something that you alone cannot stop, and that nobody will believe is the truth, simply because it is so terrible?  _ How could anyone ever  _ do  _ such a thing?  _ Orion sat at his desk the next day and scratched out notes for Spectrum’s trial. He’d been called as a witness; Shockwave had pulled some strings and made sure of that. 

Wheelarch knocked on the doorframe of Orion’s office. “We found another person from Proteus’ list.” 

“Are you taking them to Central?” Orion asked without looking up. 

“Yes, well, eventually, probably, the only thing is she claims no wrongdoing. Says she’s a spy who’s done occasional work for the Romeos, nothing more.”

“Association with the Romeos is a crime in and of itself.”

“Will you just talk to her, man? She’s in the interrogation room. Chief’s out and I’m not in the mood for moral dilemmas.”

_ Neither am I, yet I’m up to my neck in one _ . “Fine. I’ll talk to her.” 

The woman in the interrogation room had blue hair and keen eyes. She frowned when Orion entered. “Are you the Captain here?”

“Lieutenant.”

“I was promised I could speak to the Captain.” 

Orion almost laughed. “Captain’s out. Besides, you probably don’t want to speak to him. I’m probably more amiable than he is. What’s your name?”

“Soundwave.” 

“Right, Soundwave, according to Wheelarch you say you’re innocent despite having documented connections to the Romeos.”

“I am innocent. I’ve never broken the law before,” she insisted. “I’m not even directly in the Romeos’ employ. I work with them occasionally, but only because I have a very specific set of skills that nobody else knew how to utilize. I had no other options. I’ve never stolen anything. I’ve never killed anyone. I’m a spy, and I spy on other gangs. That’s it.” 

“You realize that’s not an excuse? There are plenty of people with slim options who didn’t turn to crime.”

Soundwave laughed sharply. “I don’t think that’s true, Officer. The people without options either turn to crime or die. That’s how this city is: the corporations, everyone under their thumbs, and you, the cops, trying to maintain the moral high ground despite all evidence to the contrary. You can throw me in Central if you want, but you won’t change the fact that I’m right.” 

And she was. Orion  _ knew  _ she was. 

_ You can let her go. You let Megatron go _ , a voice said in his head. 

_ This is different.  _

_ How? _

_ Megatron was working against the Myriad. She works for the Romeos. _

_ So? She hasn’t done anything wrong.  _

_ I can’t let every criminal go. _

_ Can’t you?  _

“Soundwave, I understand where you’re coming from—“

“Good.”

“—but I can’t just flout the law at my convenience. I’m sorry. But I can put in a good word for you, and perhaps when your trial comes around, you’ll be set free.”

_ Hypocrite.  _

Soundwave shook her head. “I knew you’d say something like that. Before you send me off, though, I have a question for you. What are you lying about?” 

“What?”

“You heard me. What are you lying about?”

“I’m not lying—“ 

“Yes you are. I can hear you. Your heart rate picked up, and when you moved your hand just then I could hear your palm stick a little bit from the sweat.”

“How are you—“

She tapped her ear with her index finger. “I hear pretty good.” And that was when Orion noticed the thin wires crawling out of her ear canals and up into her hair. He’d never seen implants like that before. Implants that actually improved your hearing beyond what was normal for other people. “You’re not used to lying, are you? Only novice liars actually have physical reactions when they lie.”

“I don’t appreciate being psychoanalyzed.”

“Well I don’t appreciate being arrested and yet here we are.” 

“This conversation is over.”

“Yeah, yeah, run home and cry to your mommy. Boo-hoo, the woman I’m sending to prison was mean to me. Gimme a fuckin’ break.” 

Orion went back to sit in his office. He stared down at his notes. Why couldn’t he let her go? He let Megatron go. He would be lying in court to get Spectrum more jail time. But this would be one bent law too many. It would also mean another lie to Chief and Prowl.  _ And lies stack up.  _

Wheelarch appeared in his doorway again. “So what’s the verdict?”

“Take her to Central. But tell her—never mind. No. I mean. Just tell her I’m sorry. It won’t matter, but tell her anyway.” He stared back down at his notes.  _ Trespassing—many offenses. Pros: The truth. Cons: May make Thyranotos more worried about what she found. Theft. Pros: Gives a reason to Thyranotos why she’d be there that isn’t the real reason. Cons: A lie. May get her more time in jail than she wants or needs.  _ Orion balled up the sheet of paper and tossed it at the wall. It bounced off and landed lamely on the floor. He needed to get his story straight. 

His story was still pretty bent by the time Spectrum’s court date rolled around.  _ One. Prowl called me to investigate a break-in on the Thyranotos campus. Two. I met with Thyranotos security. Three. We split up. Four. I found her snooping around the perimeter. No. That won’t do. Then I have no evidence she was in the building, so it goes from breaking and entering to trespassing damnit damnit damnit.  _

The courtroom downtown was a small one. On one side sat the city prosecutor and a representative from Thyranotos, on the other, Spectrum, handcuffed alone at a wooden desk. Orion sat down on the prosecution’s side, suppressing the urge to at the very least greet Spectrum. Spectrum had no witnesses to her defense. The prosecution had two: Orion and a security guard he recognized from that night. 

“It was three in the morning,” the security guard began his testimony, “when security camera seven in the basement went down. I didn’t really think much of it. But then another camera went down, and another. And I went to investigate, but I didn’t find anything. I got some of the other guards on the line, but they couldn’t find anything either. Then Backflash decided to call the cops, just in case we found anyone, and then he showed up. And then he found her.” He gestured to Orion. “And that’s it.” 

And then it was Orion’s turn.

The judge turned to him. “State your name please.”

“Officer Orion Pax of Rodion Centre.”

“And what is your precinct?”

“Thirty-third precinct, Lower Iacon.”

“And what was a police officer from Lower Iacon doing at the Thyranotos campus in Asklepios, halfway across town? Asklepios has its own precinct. Two of them, if I recall correctly.” 

“I—“ Hang on, why was he there? “Officer Prowl of Petrex called me from the second precinct, Downtown. It was late. Graveyard shift. I didn’t ask why he wanted me.” 

That seemed to satisfy the judge, and she moved on. “What happened after you arrived?”

“I met with ten security guards. I had them split up and cover different areas of the building. We knew whoever it was, they were in the central administrative building, because that’s where the cameras were going off. I took the south wing and that edge of the perimeter. I found a door to the basement in the back—one of those in-ground ones. It had a manual lock on it, and the lock was cut with a pair of bolt cutters. I went in and almost ran headlong into her. I brought her out front and that was that.”

“You mentioned a pair of bolt cutters?” the judge offered. 

“Never found them. She must’ve stashed them somewhere on the grounds.”

“Did she say what she was doing there?”

“No, Your Honor.” Orion looked over at the Thyranotos representative. She wasn’t looking at him, though. She was staring straight at Spectrum, tapping her ring finger on the desk.  _ Please, God, Spectrum, have a good cover story.  _ Most of his story was the truth. The only differences were the bolt cutters and running into her inside the building instead of outside of it. 

“And did she have anything else on her? Looking at the incident report she did not.” 

“No, that’s correct, she didn’t. At least, not that I noticed.” The first real lie. When Orion had spotted her, she’d been carrying a small black duffel over one shoulder. And when she’d seen him, she’d tossed it into the bushes and taken off. He hadn’t stopped to look for it before giving chase. For all he knew, it was still there. He pressed his sweaty palms down onto his knees. 

“Then, Spectrum of Nyon, perhaps you can shed some light on this situation. How did you break into a highly secure biotech corporation’s facilities with no tools on your person? The report says you disabled cameras and didn’t trigger any alarms. Officer, you are dismissed from the stand. Spectrum, it is your turn to testify.” 

The Thyranotos agent’s eyes were locked on Spectrum, still. Staring right through her as she began her testimony, “This was a dry run for a heist I was planning on doing later. Do you know how much money journalists make? And do you know how much top-tier medicine goes for when you’re selling it to the gangs? My sister was the one doing the hacking. Shutting off the security cams and alarms. She was doing it remotely. I didn’t need to have anything on me. My only goal was to locate the medicine then get out. I failed step two.” She kept her eyes closed the entire time, like what she was saying was painful to her. Every now and then her eyelid would twitch. 

“Where is your sister now?” the judge asked. 

Now Spectrum opened her eyes. “Even if I knew I wouldn’t tell you.” Her voice was clear and sharp in the tiny courtroom. 

One month in jail for breaking and entering. Enough time to write her story and get it all to Shockwave. Orion looked back over at the Thyranotos agent. She was scribbling something on a notepad. Spectrum had given the performance of a lifetime, and won herself enough jail time to complete her mission. And yet Orion still felt like something had gone horribly wrong. 

When he left the courtroom, it was almost sunset, and that creeping dread didn’t abandon him on his drive back to his apartment. But it wasn’t just the Thyranotos agent. It was Prowl. He hadn’t thought about it before the judge mentioned it, but why had Prowl called him? Surely he could’ve just dispatched someone from Asklepios to Thyranotos. They would’ve gotten there a lot faster. It would’ve been a more pragmatic choice, and Prowl was nothing if not pragmatic. Was it because Prowl trusted him more than others?  _ No, Prowl doesn’t trust anyone.  _ That left only one logical reason for Prowl to dispatch Orion to Thyranotos above anyone else: Someone had asked him to. 

Orion spun his car around, its wheels screeching against the empty road, and headed back the way he came, this time passing through Downtown and towards Iacon Heights. 

“I’m sorry,” Shockwave said, leaning against their apartment door, their features bathed in orange light from the streetlamp outside. “It was a contingency plan, Orion. You understand that, don’t you? I had to know that if she was caught it would be by someone reasonable.”

“And I’m reasonable?”

“You—of course you are.” They smiled. “Most reasonable cop on the block. Why?” 

“I don’t know, Shockwave. It’s just all so crazy. Thyranotos, Spectrum, these gangs. We’re all hurtling towards something and I don’t know what it is, or even if it’s good or bad. I just wish you’d told me the truth from the get-go. Told me that you’d wanted me to be there.” 

Shockwave placed a soft hand on Orion’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Orion. I really am. But I didn’t want to put you at risk if you didn’t have to be. If you were to play the trial in Spectrum’s favor, whatever that favor may be, you needed to be as uninvolved as possible. You’re not a very good liar.” 

Orion thought of Prowl. “I’m not half bad.” Then he thought of Soundwave. “Though maybe I could use more practice. I admit I don’t really want to.”

“These are strange times, dear. They make liars out of honest men and burglars out of journalists and City Councilors out of scientists and schemers out of City Councilors.”

It was then that Roller stuck his head out of Shockwave’s apartment door. “Are you two lovebirds done conspiring yet? Your coffee’s getting cold, Shockers.” 

Shockwave waved a hand in Roller’s direction. “You can dump it out. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight. Do you want to come in, Orion? We can’t discuss anything important inside, but I made soup. And I bought a box of peppermint tea last week.”

“That sounds nice. Thank you.” 

Orion didn’t know how he ended up crashing on Shockwave’s couch that night. When he woke up in the morning, Shockwave was still asleep.

“Long week,” Roller explained. “Their only meeting today isn’t ‘til the afternoon, for once.” Seeing Roller was nice too. They hadn’t spent much time together since Roller had quit the force to be Shockwave’s bodyguard. Orion made eggs on Shockwave’s stove while Roller sat on the counter eating yogurt. 

They didn’t speak until Roller said, “Y’know, Big Guy, with you spending this much time around Shockwave, you should be their bodyguard ‘stead of me.” 

“Pssh. I’d be a terrible bodyguard.”

“Oh, what? A strong, intelligent, fiercely loyal man who’s handy in a fight? Yeah, you’re awful bodyguard material.” 

Orion pointed his spatula at Roller. “Careful, old friend. I’ll tell Springarm you said that.”

“You will  _ not. _ ”

“You’re right, I won’t. But I will seriously consider it. How are things going with you two, what with you living here now?” 

Roller shrugged. “It was tough at first. Y’know, we’d only been living together for a few months when I got hired, so it was kind of weird to move in then move back out right away. But y’know, we all kind of still hang out together, especially with you and Shockwave being friends now. So it’s not like I don’t see him. And I’m not allowed in meetings and stuff with them, and security’s crazy in there anyway, so that’s my time off.” 

“You think they’ll ever hire another bodyguard or two, just to give you a rest?”

Roller shrugged again. “They’ve said they want to, but they don’t really trust anyone else. I mean, aside from your journalist friend, who isn’t a bodyguard, and you. And you have a job.” He paused for a moment. “Do you think if they asked you to be their bodyguard you’d say yes?”

“I don’t really know. I’d have to think about it.”

When Orion arrived at the station, Wheelarch sprung up from his desk, pointed at Orion and demanded, “Where were you last night?”

“What? I—“

“I heard your car pull up outside—you should get that engine checked out, by the way—and you usually walk here. That goes to show that you were somewhere other than your house last night,” Wheelarch said smugly. 

Springarm tapped his brother on the shoulder with a pen. “Settle down, CSI.”

Orion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your boyfriend says hi, Springarm.”

Wheelarch leapt up and punched the air. “Yes! I  _ knew _ you were hooking up with that Councilor friend of yours.” 

“I am not. I just ran an errand for them yesterday that ran late and I didn’t feel like driving all the way home.” 

Springarm tugged on Wheelarch’s sleeve. “Sit  _ down _ . Chief wants to see you, Orion.  _ ASAP _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the Shadowplay arc of the More Than Meets the Eye comic series, oh boy you're in for a real treat.


	4. Rhetoric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron's back! Happy Thursday!

Over the following month, Orion fell into something of a routine. A different routine from the one he’d been following for his last decade on the force. During the day he’d be at work, same as always, looking for the rest of the people on Proteus and Veil’s list, answering calls from locals, or just shooting the shit with Springarm and Wheelarch. In the evenings, most evenings, at least, when Shockwave didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to, it would be Orion and Roller at their apartment. Sometimes Springarm would be there as well, and rarely Wheelarch too. And then, once a week, Orion would make a trip down to Cybertronian Central to visit Spectrum and pick up her latest notes. Then he’d bring them to Shockwave, who’d type them up, or record themself or Orion reading them, edit them, and pair them with the documents and footage Spectrum had collected over her year of reconnaissance. 

On a late shift one Tuesday, Springarm picked up an emergency call. “Break-in,” he said once he’d hung up the phone. “‘Least, that’s what they think it is. Militech warehouse on Iacon Highway. Under the overpass.”

“I’m on it,” Orion said, getting up. 

“You going by yourself, supercop?” Wheelarch remarked, and Orion started, because he thought he’d been asleep. 

“You two seem pretty tired. If it’s a cat burglar, and it probably is, I just need to scare them off. I’ll call for backup if I need it.” 

“Dunno,” Wheelarch said, sitting up in his chair and setting the book he’d had resting open on his face down on the desk. “You’ve been pretty tired yourself. So many late nights up with Councilor Shockwave.” 

Orion ignored the innuendo and left the station. 

He’d never really paid attention to the Militech and Thyranotos and Agriland and InfoComp facilities around the city outside of their main campuses, though there was no shortage of them. Occasionally he’d been asked to investigate one here and there, but most places like these were left well enough alone. Anyone who wanted to steal from them was either very brave, very stupid, or very desperate, or some combination thereof. The person on the phone hadn’t reported many people swarming the warehouse, so this was most likely nothing more than a squatter looking for a place to spend the night. 

He pulled up to the warehouse to find a pickup truck already parked outside, barely visible in the shadow of the overpass.  _ Odd.  _ He walked around the building, looking for how the trespasser got in. Around the back, he found it, along with the trespasser: the chain link fence around the perimeter had a gaping hole in it, and a man was cutting even deeper into it.  _ Property damage. Ballsy, for a squatter.  _

Orion drew his gun. “Police. Drop the bolt cutters and turn around slowly.” 

“Shit,” the man muttered as he turned around.

To his astonishment, Orion recognized him. “Megatron?” He’d grown out his hair a little bit, but he otherwise looked the same. 

The moment he recognized Orion, Megatron’s expression went from frustration to unmitigated joy. “Orion,” he said, the barest edge of a laugh in his voice, “we have to stop meeting like this.” 

“What are you doing here?”

“Who, me?” Megatron asked in mock offense, placing a hand on his chest. 

“This is Militech,” Orion pointed out. 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You said you stole from the Myriad.”

“I did, and I do,” Megatron explained. “I said I stole from the Myriad. I never said I  _ only  _ stole from them.” 

“You realize I’m going to have to arrest you.”

“You can’t arrest me  _ again _ . You already arrested me. You told your pals at the station that I’m in jail  _ right now _ . You can’t arrest me now, that’d be double jeopardy.”

“That is  _ not  _ what that means. Besides, although I did tell my ‘pals at the station,’ as you called them, that I took you to Central, I never told  _ Central  _ that. If I brought you straight there, it would negate any lie I’ve ever told with regards to you.” 

Megatron tapped a finger on his chin. “That’s pretty clever.  _ You’re  _ pretty clever.” 

“It’s not that clever.”

“You’re right, it’s not. You’re just handsome. Take a walk with me?” 

That caught Orion off-guard. “What?” 

“Even if lying to your friends isn’t that clever, I still think that you are. And I think that you’re a reasonable person, and that I owe you a real explanation of what I’m doing and why.”

_ This is a bad idea.  _ “Okay, Megatron, I’ll bite. What  _ are  _ you doing and why?”  _ This is a bad idea.  _

Megatron beamed and held out his index finger. “One word.  _ Revolution _ .”  _ This is a shit awful idea.  _

“So, what did you tell him?” Megatron asked after Orion had gotten off the phone with Springarm.

“Not the truth, that’s for damn sure. I must be out of my mind.” 

“Mm, the best people are.”

“I told him I chased you off and that I’m tired and I’m going to go home. Which I am, and I will.”

“But not until after you get a smoothie with me.”

“A smoothie?”

“Mm-hmm, my treat. I’m not going to tell you the intricacies of my plan to liberate this city from the corporations who abuse it without getting you something to drink. There’s a twenty-four hour smoothie place not too far from here, and it’s pretty good.” Megatron took him by the arm and led him under the overpass and away from the warehouse. “I wasn’t raised by my mother,” he explained as they went. “Well, I was, but only for the first five years of my life. After that, I was raised by a man named Terminus. We lived in the Rust Valley together, and he made a living working for Militech, stripping scrap metal from abandoned buildings for them. But Terminus died. Terminus died in one of those abandoned places in the Rust Valley when the second story of the building collapsed on top of him and crushed him to death.” 

“I’m sorry,” Orion offered. Megatron seemed so nonchalant about the death of the man who raised him. It was almost unnerving. 

“See, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Megatron continued, his amiable demeanor fading for just a moment. He bounced on his toes a little bit as his face screwed up in a frown. “Everybody’s sorry, but nobody ever  _ thinks  _ about what happened that lead Terminus to be in that position. First the building he was in had to be built. It was a factory if I recall correctly. It made textiles. So there had to be a textile manufacturer to build the building. And then they had to go out of business and be absorbed by Byway Manufacturing, who moved all of their factories out of the city, leaving the building abandoned. And  _ then  _ Cybertronian Power had to move their plant out of the Rust Valley to Rodion Centre, leaving the rest of the district abandoned, making it cheap enough for the poorest of the poor to live there.”

“I’m following.”

“Good, because it only gets worse. And then Terminus had to be born as part of the poorest of the poor, so poor that he could only afford to live in the Rust Valley. So poor that he was desperate enough to work for Militech harvesting scrap. And then, in a different district, two  _ other  _ people had to be born as part of the poorest of the poor. And then Bex, a landfill worker from Tarn, had to disappear, leaving her five-year-old son behind in a dilapidated shack on the edge of a pile of trash, causing him to go into the city proper to look for her.”

Orion didn’t know Megatron well, but he got the feeling that this side of him, this frenzy, this ghastly mania, didn’t come out very often. 

“And Terminus found him. And that meant that he had to start finding extra work to provide for this poor sack of a kid, which meant that he had to traverse buildings that were more dangerous than he’d have liked in search of what he hadn’t found already.” 

“How old were you?” Orion asked.

“When Terminus died, fifteen.” Then he looked at Orion very seriously and said, “And there were so many links in that chain. If you break even one of them, he wouldn’t have died. If you improved just one thing about the Rust Valley or Tarn or my life or his or my mother’s or his parents’, it would’ve all turned out differently. I joined the Myriad because it was join or die. And it  _ shouldn’t be that way _ . I don’t want to lie and steal and  _ kill  _ to survive. And I realized that about two years ago.”

Orion thought briefly of Soundwave. He supposed she and Megatron would get along. “But you still lie and steal,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” Megatron continued hurriedly. “But only as a means to an end. That’s what I realized two years ago. That organized crime was better as a means to an end. Orion, why do you think Galvatron hasn’t been arrested yet?” 

Orion thought about it for a moment. Galvatron wasn’t exactly a private figure. The average person could probably spot his car driving down the highway. “I don’t know.”

“Because they don’t  _ care. Nobody  _ cares. Not the police, not the Council, and certainly not the corps. As long as these syndicates exist, the populace doesn’t have to think about  _ why  _ they exist. People are scared of them. Galvatron makes a good villain. An identifiable villain. Not like these faceless corporations and the horrors wrought by capitalism. And the syndicates do all of the work for the corporations! They steal from and squabble with each other. When they do bother the corps, it’s rarely even worth noting. They have all this power, and they do nothing with it. That’s what I realized working for the Myriad. Galvatron was  _ powerful _ ,  _ we  _ were powerful, we had money and weapons and personnel and information and we did nothing with it! We didn’t help anyone. So that’s what I want to do. I want to use the system that the people in power created against them. I want to take the city back for us, the people, the landfill workers and the scrap harvesters and the addicts and the homeless.” Megatron finished, and he smiled, gently and genuinely. He seemed proud of himself in a very sincere way. A way without arrogance, only optimism. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Orion confessed after a brief pause. He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. I understand where you’re coming from, though. And I think you’re being honest.”

Megatron shoulder-checked him lightly. “Know this about me, Orion: I’m always honest. And I’m glad you understand.”

“Well, there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this? I’m a cop. And it’s like you said, we don’t  _ care _ . Well, I personally care, but we as an institution don’t. And from the looks of it, you don’t have many others on board. So you probably haven’t told many people about this whole thing. So: why me?”

“Simple: I like you. You understood what I told you when you arrested me, and you were generous when you let me go. You have a good heart. And I should know: I’ve seen good hearts and awful rotten ones.”

“No offense, but that isn’t exactly the soundest logic.”

“What can I say? I’m horribly idealistic and a hopeless romantic to boot.” 

Orion gave a small snort laugh. “The worst combination.” 

Megatron gestured to the side of the road, where a glowing sign hung over a building awash in fluorescent lights. The sign read “SMOOTHIE WORLD” in an obnoxious block letter font. “Here we are: Cybertron’s first and only twenty-four hour smoothie joint.”

“What is their customer base, I wonder,” Orion said.

“Just me, most nights. And now, the two of us.” And then he took Orion by both hands and led him inside, singing, “ _ Two of us riding nowhere/Spending someone’s hard earned pay/You and me Sunday driving, not arriving/On our way back home. _ ” 

“I don’t know that one,” Orion remarked. 

“Pssh, me neither. Mom used to sing it to me. I don’t remember the rest.”

“You could look it up.”

“Why bother? It would ruin the mystery of it.” 

Once they’d sat down and were sipping on their respective smoothies, Megatron said, “So what do you think about all of this? Have you figured it out yet?”

“I—yes and no,” Orion responded. “I’ve kind of been thinking on this stuff for a little while. I have this friend. On the City Council. Shockwave. And they’ve been pointing this all out to me.” He laughed sadly. “I know it should’ve been obvious, but. When you live with it for so long it all seems normal. And then Shockwave has this journalist friend who discovered some pretty awful stuff on the Thyranotos campus. I can’t tell you about it yet, we’re keeping it on the DL for now, but. I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been stuck in this rut where I feel like I need to do  _ something _ , but I don’t know what it is I need to do. So. I admire that about you. I may be confused and unsure about your methods, but at least you’re  _ doing  _ something.” 

Megatron finished his smoothie and said, “That’s how most people feel, actually. You go up to a person on the street and ask them, ‘You think we should improve society?’ And they say, ‘Of course.’ But if you ask them how they’d want to go about it, they don’t know. The vast majority of people would love to create something better than what we have, would love to get these corporations the fuck out of here. But they don’t know how. So I’m going to do my best to tackle that tricky question of ‘how.’” Then he stood up, held out his hand, and said, “Let me walk you back to your car.” 

When they reached Orion’s car, Megatron put his hand on the handle and said, “Thank you for walking with me. And listening to me. I don’t know many cops who would extend someone like me that courtesy. I don’t know any cops who would do that, actually.”

“Do you know any cops period?”

Megatron smiled. “Just the one, actually. Before you go, I have a question. So far, things are going pretty well. I’ve only been at it for a year, six months on my own, but all things considered, it’s running smoothly. I have a fair amount of money, weapons, medicine, food, some good information on where to get more of all of the above, and some favors to cash in. But there’s one thing I don’t have. Well, two things, actually.”

“What are they?” Orion asked. 

“Personnel is the first. I’ve been doing this all by my lonesome since I started, but a revolution can’t be just one person. It can start that way, but lasting power lies with the collective. I need to start recruiting. The sooner the better.”

“So recruit,” Orion suggested. “You’re pretty charismatic, you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“Well, that’s the other thing I don’t have: legitimacy. I’m a street rat from Tarn, then later the Rust Valley, who spent well over a decade with the Myriad. By all accounts, I can’t be trusted. Which is why I need to find someone who can be.” 

Orion’s stomach dropped, though because of what emotion, be it fear, excitement, nervousness, or shock he couldn’t tell. “Where are you going with this?” he asked.

“Join me,” Megatron answered. “You’re streetwise, you’re savvy, you’re honest, you have compassion, patience, and understanding. I admit that I asked around about you after you arrested me the first time. You’re known pretty universally as one of the few good cops on the block. You’re  _ legitimate _ . You could lend credibility to my cause, and you know it’s an important cause.”

He did know. “Megatron, I—“

“You don’t have to decide now,” Megatron said hurriedly. “Just get back to me. You know where I live.”

“Megatron, I don’t know,” Orion confessed. “I admire your goals, and I admire you, but this would require a lot of sacrifices on my part. And I know—I  _ know  _ that change always requires sacrifice, but I just  _ can’t.  _ Not right now, maybe not ever. I’d have to either quit my job or be lying to my coworkers’ faces on a daily basis. And Shockwave—“ 

“Your Councilor friend,” Megatron filled in.

“Shockwave is doing important stuff right now. Important stuff that I’m involved in and can’t put at risk. Maybe when it all clears up, but—probably not. I think that change from the inside is where I do my best work. Helping individuals who are put at risk by this system rather than overhauling the whole system itself.” 

Megatron nodded. “I understand where you’re coming from. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I understand. I hope that whatever Shockwave’s doing works out for you. For both of you.”

“It’s not like that,” Orion blurted. 

“Oh! No, I—I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—assume anything, I was just—what you’re working on sounds important.” They stood there awkwardly for a moment. “Okay, well, bye Orion. I hope to see you again. Um. Eventually.”

“Yeah, likewise,” Orion replied. 

“Bye.”

“Bye.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Megatron sings is "Two of Us" by The Beatles. As for Orion, don't worry. He'll come around.


	5. Countdown: Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof! Sorry for the late posting everyone. Totally slipped my mind. Shorter chapter this Monday, but a softer one. It's filler, mostly, featuring some very tender Shockwave and Orion. Enjoy! 
> 
> Warning for alcohol consumption and mentions of animal death.

In the golden light of a late afternoon, standing in the hallway outside of their apartment, Shockwave pressed a USB drive into Orion’s palm and said, “It’s all here. Every document, every minute of footage, every photograph, and all of Spectrum’s articles that we’ve recorded.”

“When does Spectrum get released?” Orion asked, wrapping his fingers around the drive. How could something so small be a part of something so big? 

“Tomorrow,” Roller answered.

“We’re waiting until she’s out and in a safe place to release it all,” Shockwave explained, “I’ve got a deal with Channel Fifty-Four and the emergency alert system. I also figured out a way to hack the billboard system. Who knew they were all linked to one data source?” Shockwave mused. “Stupid of them. By this time next week the entire city will know what Thyranotos has been up to.”

“How do you feel?” Orion asked.

“Nervous. Worried. Terrified,” Shockwave listed off. “My friend could be killed for this if Thyranotos finds her. Hell,  _ I  _ could be killed for this if it gets linked back to me. Which it might, there’s a good chance it might. But also pleased. Relieved, even. All things go according to plan, Spectrum gets released, she comes here, we have a little bit of wine, then I pack her bags and send her off into the Mojave where Thyranotos can never find her.” They looked down at their feet. “And then it’s all over.” Then they clapped their hands together and said, “I don’t know about you two, but I want to get absolutely blasted. I have the wine in the pantry, I’ll go get it. Come inside, but remember: don’t talk about Spectrum or Thyranotos or anything remotely related.” And then they disappeared back into their apartment.

It had been a long, long time since Orion had gotten drunk. Being intoxicated wasn’t exactly conducive to his job performance. But on the eve of Spectrum’s release, with the prospect of the Thyranotos story looming over them, it felt good to just drink and let go of his fear. Fear of what would happen to Spectrum, what would happen to Shockwave, what would happen to  _ him _ , and what this would mean for their world. If anything. If anything at all. 

Orion had never seen Shockwave drunk before. It seemed they had a tendency to rant, but not about the things they normally ranted about. They were going off about a play they’d read recently. “And then,  _ and then _ , Irene says to Gerry: What happened to my dogs, Gerry? And Gerry, he fucking poisoned her dogs, both of them, and buried them alive!” Shockwave exclaimed, gesticulating wildly and sending little droplets of wine splattering onto the carpet. 

“That’s fucked up,” Roller muttered into his glass. 

Shockwave collapsed on the couch. “So fucked up. You should read it though, it’s so good.”

“What’s it called?” Orion asked.

“I...don’t remember,” Shockwave replied, sending the three of them into fits of giggles. 

At the end of the evening, it was Shockwave rather than Orion who passed out on the couch. “I should go home,” Orion remarked, pulling Shockwave’s head onto his lap and pulling their dark hair out of its braid. 

“You’re drunk, Big Guy,” Roller pointed out.

“I can walk or—or call Springarm or Wheelarch to come an’ pick me up. Not Wheelarch. He’ll make fun of me. I don’t have a place to sleep with Shockwave here.” He patted them lightly on the side of the head. “I don’t wanna move ‘em when I’m not sober. I might—I might drop ‘em.” 

“‘S too far to walk, an’ Springarm’s probably asleep. Should sleep here tonight. Should sleep in Shockwave’s bed.” Roller gestured down the hall. “They aren’t using it.” 

“I can’t do that.” Even in his drunken state, sleeping in Shockwave’s bed seemed strange. Unthinkable, even. 

“Why not? They won’t mind. They’ll probably even appreciate it. They’re like...crazy into you.”

That shocked through the haze clouding Orion’s brain. “They’re  _ what?  _ Did they tell you that?”

“ _ Pfft _ . Fuck no. Is written all over their face every time they look at you. An’ they won’t shut up about you—think you’re the salt of the earth. Think you hung the stars in the sky. Have to be a fool not to see it. A damn fool.” 

“A damn fool,” Orion muttered, though he wasn’t exactly conscious of the words he said.  _ Crazy into you _ .  _ It was Roller that was crazy,  _ he thought, absent-mindedly stroking Shockwave’s hair,  _ had to be. _ Wheelarch and—and  _ Megatron  _ weren’t  _ right  _ about his and Shockwave’s relationship. He was too drunk and tired to think, so he lifted Shockwave’s head off his lap and gently placed it down on a pillow. They continued to snore soundly, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. 

He trudged off to Shockwave’s room. It was strange being in here alone. It was strange being in here at all. He rarely ventured farther into their apartment than the kitchen/living room area. It was dark in here, and warm, and he crawled gratefully into Shockwave’s bed. It was soft, softer than his bed at home, and it smelled like them. And it was nice, it was so  _ nice  _ and comfortable and  _ right _ being here and— _ Oh shit. I might actually love them.  _ He was too exhausted to think about that now though. That would be something for Morning Orion to deal with, if Morning Orion remembered. So for now, he tucked the duvet up under his chin, and within minutes he was fast asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The play Shockwave is talking about is Downstairs by Theresa Rebeck, though in the established Die Happy universe, it probably wouldn't exist. Whatever. Who cares. Megatron will return in chapter 8, by the way. 
> 
> And, since I started on it Saturday, I'll mention that Die Happy will have a sequel, because God has cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished. It will have shifting points of view none of which are OP or Megatron, though they are important characters. More details to come.


	6. Countdown: Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a day late on this one. I just forget things. I'd put a reminder in my Google calendar on Mondays and Thursdays but unfortunately I share that Google calendar with my entire immediate family and I'd rather not explain to them what I'm up to. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is where it all starts to kick off. Enjoy!

Orion awoke to a hand on his shoulder and Shockwave’s voice saying, with some urgency, “Wake up Orion. Wake up. Please.” 

Orion rolled over. The first thought to enter his brain was,  _ My head hurts so bad _ . The second thought was,  _ Oh shit, I’m in Shockwave’s bed.  _ And the third was,  _ Oh shit, Shockwave is right there and they sound upset.  _ Orion sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on”

Shockwave’s eyebrows knit together. “It’s Spectrum. She was supposed to be here two hours ago.” 

Within minutes, Orion was dressed, ready, and on the phone with Prowl. “Prowl, were you at Central this morning? No? Okay, can you patch me through to someone who was? Yes it’s important. Of course it’s not illegal! I am not fucking around Prowl, I’m aware I owe you one, owe you  _ two  _ now, fine, fine, just patch me the fuck through!” After being patched through, he was on the phone with Wrack, a guard who had been on duty when Spectrum was released. 

“Spectrum of Nyon, journalist, arrested for breaking and entering about six weeks ago. She was released this morning,” Orion explained after verifying his identity. “Did you see her leave?”

“According to my tablet here, yeah, looks like she signed out,” Wrack explained. 

“Okay. Did anyone see where she went after she left the facility?”

“Can’t say I did, sorry. Hey, Blister!” Wrack called, pulling away from the phone. “Can you check the exterior security cams for me? A cop is looking for someone. What’s she look like?” he asked, leaning back in. 

“Tall, dark-skinned, bright cyan hair, can’t miss her.”

Wrack leaned back out. “Tall, dark-skinned, bright cyan hair.” A moment passed. Then another. Then another. Finally, Wrack spoke again, “Blister says he found her. Walked out the front door at nine this morning. Got in a black SUV. No sign of her since.” 

Orion relayed all this to Shockwave. A black SUV. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

“It’s Thyranotos,” Roller said as they exited the apartment building. “It’s gotta be Thyranotos. We all know it’s Thyranotos. Who else would it fucking be?”

“We don’t know that,” Shockwave chastised him. “We can’t. We have to be certain first, then we’ll plan our next move.”

But Orion knew that Roller was right. He didn’t  _ want  _ Roller to be right, and Shockwave  _ certainly _ didn’t want Roller to be right. Because If Roller was right, Spectrum was gone and they’d never get her back. 

“I tried to call her sister,” Shockwave continued. “But V switches out her phone like every month, and I don’t think I have an updated number. She might still get my message but it’s a long shot. And I don’t know where she lives.” 

“We just have to retrace her steps,” Orion said. “We’ll go to Cybertronian Central, because that’s where she was last seen. I’ll talk to Wrack and see if I can look at the security footage myself, find out which direction the SUV went. We can track it from there.” 

So they went to Central, and Orion got Wrack to hand over the footage, and they saw the SUV for themselves. It was big and intimidating, and though the quality of the footage wasn’t high enough for them to make out Spectrum’s expression, she hesitated before she got in. And then it drove south, towards the highway. That wasn’t a good sign. The highway led straight out from Downtown towards Asklepios.  _ We can’t count Spectrum out yet.  _ But what would they do if she was gone? What would  _ Shockwave  _ do? From what he could tell, Spectrum was their best friend, aside from Orion and Roller. Would they publish the story? They had to. It was too important not to. Spectrum would want them to publish it. Wouldn’t she? 

_ Focus on finding her, Orion _ . 

Shockwave sat on the curb, gazing down the road in the direction the SUV had gone. They screwed their eyes shut and said, “CCTV.”

“What?” Roller said.

“I hadn’t wanted to, they’re relics, leftover from. God. Who knows when, and many of them are broken, but there are CCTV cameras every mile on the highway. It would take some persuasion, or some hacking, but I can get that footage. If the SUV went down the highway we can find out where.”

“That’s great news!” Roller exclaimed. “Why didn’t you bring that up before?”

“Because it’s a serious breach of ethics,” Shockwave snapped. “Maybe some of the other Councilors are willing to use the CCTV to spy on the populace, but I have yet to stoop so low. I’m only bringing it up now because it’s an emergency and we have no other options.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Orion and Roller were crowded around Shockwave’s laptop in a back room in the City Hall. Shockwave had hooked up their laptop to one of a mess of cables, all wrapped around one another, cycling through a several enormous servers and out through the walls. They were tapping furiously at the keys. “Come on, come  _ on _ ,” they muttered. “Programmer, my ass. Can you believe I used to do this for a living? I should’ve known politics would make me  _ useless _ —“ 

Orion put a hand on their shoulder. “You’re not useless. You’re almost through.” 

And just like that, Shockwave was through. “Okay, okay,” they said, their frustration dissolving away. “What’s here? City Hall, Courthouse, Cybertronian Central, Downtown strip, aha! Highway.”

“How much of the city is wired up like this?” Roller asked.

“Just Downtown and the highway. That’s all they got to before the project got defunded. I wasn’t a Councilor when that all happened, but I’m prone to perusing records that the others don’t want me to see.” They flashed a small, mischievous smile. It was the first time they’d smiled since Spectrum’s disappearance. They began to scroll through the individual cameras.  _ Highway Camera 1, Highway Camera 2, Highway Camera 3 [INACTIVE], Highway Camera 4… _ “Okay, around nine am this morning, there seems to be only one SUV on the highway, according to Highway Camera One,” Shockwave narrated. Hacking had seemed to put them back in their element after a long and stressful morning. “Which makes sense, because black SUV’s that big and purposefully intimidating are rare. So this is probably our car. If we follow it—here. Passing by exit thirty-two. Then Camera Three is down, so if we check Camera Four, there it is again, and Camera Five. There. It gets off the highway at exit…...thirty seven. Which means—“ They trailed off, their eyes going wide and lips parting slightly. They’d just confirmed everyone’s worst fears. Exit thirty-seven led to Asklepios. 

Shockwave stared at the screen for a long moment, watching the security clip loop over and over and over again, as if something would change this time, and the SUV wouldn’t exit towards Asklepios, and instead continue down the highway towards somewhere else. Somewhere that Spectrum could be retrieved from. And then Shockwave’s head collapsed through their hands and onto the desk, their arms folding over the back of their neck. Roller and Orion stood there for a few moments, and then realized that Shockwave was crying.

“I did—I did  _ everything  _ I could,” they choked out into the desk. “I was so careful, I was so  _ sure _ , I was so  _ sure  _ it would all—it would—it’s all for nothing.” They sat up, staring at the servers their laptop was hooked up to, tears rolling down their cheeks. “She’s gone and it’s all for nothing.” They pulled the USB drive out of their pocket and stared at it. “If I publish this now, Thyranotos will know everything that she knows. Right now, they’re in the dark. They may still be trying to find out how much she knows. If we publish this now, it’s all over. They’ll have no reason to keep her alive, and every reason to punish her. Is this worth dying for?” 

“People have already died for it,” Roller said slowly, his voice even. “Died  _ because  _ of it. There are people in that Thyranotos facility with Spectrum, and they won’t be free unless  _ you  _ free them.”

“And I can’t free them unless the whole city knows what’s happened,” Shockwave said sorrowfully. “I can’t get the other Councilors to act on this, especially unanimously, which is what I’d need to go in there in the quickest possible time frame, unless there’s extreme external pressure.” They buried their head in their hands, the drive pressed into the bridge of their nose. “I have to publish it. She’d want me to publish it.  _ Don’t let this be for nothing, Shockwave _ .” They slid the drive into their laptop. “The servers here are powerful enough for me to reroute to cover a good chunk of the news feeds in Downtown, but I can’t get this onto the Internet without dropping by InfoComp. And the billboard hubs are somewhere else,” they explained, wiping their tears from their cheeks. “This is going to be a long day.” 

Two more calls to Spectrum’s cell turned up nothing, nor did three more calls to her sister’s number. They even dropped by her old apartment in Nyon, even though she’d been evicted after being arrested, to be sure they weren’t missing something obvious, and she really was okay after all. She wasn’t. The person currently occupying her apartment hadn’t even seen her before. 

With the afternoon slipping away and being replaced by an ugly, creeping evening, they headed towards InfoComp. InfoComp was hardly a moral company, none of them were, but unlike some of the other corps, they’d worked out a deal with the City Council that was more than just, “We pay you and you let us do whatever the hell we want.” Instead, the deal with InfoComp was, “We pay you and let you access our servers whenever you feel like it and you let us do whatever the hell we want.” And for once, that deal worked in their favor. Within the hour, Spectrum’s story had been uploaded to millions of places around the Internet, and all Shockwave had to do was push a button on their laptop to publish it all. 

The billboard hub was even easier. It was even located next to Shockwave’s apartment. Finally, Shockwave called Channel 54 and the people who ran the emergency alert system. “Eight pm tonight,” they told them. Then they hung up the phone, turned to Orion and Roller, and said, “Zero hour.” 

They didn’t get drunk again. There was still more wine, meant for when Spectrum arrived, but they didn’t touch it. They just let it sit on the kitchen counter while they sat in the living room, waiting for eight pm to hit, and not saying a word to one another. Orion felt nauseous. Just after seven, as the last rays of sunlight were disappearing from the sky, Roller stood up and said, “I’m going to Springarm’s place.” Then, more formally, “I’d like to request the night off.” 

Shockwave waved a hand. “Take it. You deserve it. You’ve done a lot more for me than is normally required of a bodyguard.”

“Don’t you think someone should stay with you?” Orion said. “Just in case they come for you too.”

“I assumed you would stay with me,” Shockwave told Orion. 

Orion nodded. “I will.” This 

“Thanks, Big Guy,” Roller said, obviously relieved. “I’m sorry, Shockers, but I’m terrified.”

“We’re all terrified,” they assured him. “But we’ll be okay. Now go see your boyfriend.” 

And he did. 

“Now what?” Orion asked after Roller had left. He envied him a little. This apartment felt like there was C4 rigged up under the carpet. 

“Forty-five minutes ‘til zero hour,” Shockwave replied. “And then I give the city two more hours to receive the news, and then I call Dai Atlas and make sure we have an emergency session first thing, but until then? I don’t know. Do you wanna watch a movie? I have  _ Strictly Ballroom _ . Have you seen it?”

Orion hadn’t. And so they watched it together. It was a nice film, full of sparkly outfits and lovely music and sweet romance and Australian accents and so much dancing. Forty-five minutes into the film, Shockwave paused it, opened up their laptop, and hit ‘publish’ on Spectrum’s story. After all the buildup, it was almost anticlimactic. One click was all it took. And then it was out there, on all the billboards, and all the news feeds that lined every Megabuilding, and everyone’s phones and computers. Channel 54 was broadcasting about it. Orion leaned on Shockwave’s shoulder as they unpaused the movie. 

After the movie was over, Shockwave called Dai Atlas. After they got off the phone, they threw Orion a thumbs up and said, “Emergency meeting: scheduled. Should be good to go from here. I think I can talk them into letting you come into the meeting with me this time.”

“Why do you need that? I don’t have anything to contribute,” Orion said. “This is all you.”

“I’d be comforted by your presence,” Shockwave told him. “But let’s go to bed. Emergency session’s first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, good night,” Orion said, standing awkwardly behind the couch. 

“Well.” Shockwave paused at the edge of the living room. “How do I phrase this without it sounding weird? It seems wrong to relegate you back to the couch after sleeping in the bedroom last night. Maybe we could share? Just for tonight. If you wanted to. Or you could take Roller’s bed if he’s at Springarm’s—”

This was a whole conversation that definitely needed to be had, Orion realized. Not tonight, obviously. It had been such a long day and Shockwave had lost a close friend and the whole world would be changing right before their eyes come the next morning, but—but. Orion really, really wanted to share the bed. “We can share, if that’s okay,” he said. God, this was so  _ awkward _ . 

It had been a long time since Orion had shared a bed with someone, literally or euphemistically. Shockwave’s bed was as warm and soft as it had been last night, warmer and softer, even, with them lying next to him. It didn’t take them long to drift off to sleep, the worries of the day fading off of their face. Shockwave wasn’t that old, but as they fell asleep, the crease between their eyebrows disappeared, and immediately they looked infinitely younger. Nestled into their duvet, Orion remembered his revelation from the night before.  _ I love them. I am  _ in love  _ with them. And maybe they love me, too.  _ Once again, it was a question for Morning Orion, though Now Orion was pretty sure he’d remember this time. 


	7. Countdown: Final Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Political chapter! Yay! Featuring a cameo by Sentinel (ew), an extended cameo by Proteus (ew), and some excellent political maneuvering.

They left Shockwave’s apartment first thing. The morning was brisk with the first hints of fall. Not that winter ever really came to this part of the continent. City Hall was a short car ride away from the apartment, and one that was taken in silence. The news feeds were no longer displaying Spectrum’s story and footage, but they were replaced with other sources talking about it. “Many are still reeling from last night’s city-wide broadcast that claimed that Thyranotos was running highly unethical genetic engineering experiments,” one reporter stated from a giant TV screen looming over a Megabuilding. 

Finally, Orion broke the silence. “So what’s your game plan? Dai Atlas will obviously be on board.”

“City Councilor Dai Atlas made an executive decision to put the Thyranotos campus on lockdown roughly one hour after the story broke, with no one being allowed in or out,” another feed reported. 

“I knew he would be,” Shockwave said. “Sherma and Momus will be on board once someone states their case. They have morals, but they’re cowards and won’t speak out about them until someone else does. Justinia is religious, so I’ll need to appeal to that aspect of her personality to get her on board. Hollyhock probably won’t be there, but just in case he is, I can scare him into siding with me. He’s kind of a nut and he thinks I have ties to the Myriad. Which I don’t, for the record, but if you have an advantage, use it. Decimus is a rich jerk, but he’s being paid off by one of Thyranotos’ competitors—“

“I thought Thyranotos didn’t have competitors.”

“Not here, certainly. But Biotechnica is looking to get a foothold in Cybertron and North America—they’re Italian—and they’re bribing Decimus to get them their window of opportunity. Anyway, he’ll jump at the chance to screw Thyranotos over. Proteus and Ratbat are the hardest, but if I can convince Ratbat that he personally will benefit from everything Thyranotos has being revealed, I can get him on board. I think he’s funding other secret projects under the table, but that’s an issue for another time. I can’t convince Proteus, but I  _ can  _ convince Veil, and Veil and Proteus may be joined at the hip, but Veil at least has morals even if they aren’t always on full display. Besides, it looks like she’ll be running a tough campaign next election, and this is an opportunity she can’t afford to miss. And if I can convince her, she can convince him.”

“You’ve thought about this,” Orion noticed.

Shockwave shrugged. “It  _ is _ my job. Politics may be a shit creek, but it’s a shit creek that I have a paddle for. I didn’t stop being a scientist to go be bad at politics.” 

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Orion told him. 

“I know, I know,” Shockwave sighed. “I’m just stressed.” 

Orion put a hand on their arm. “I’m here.” 

City Hall was bustling when they got there, even so early in the morning. It was mostly reporters, but there seemed to be quite a few curious onlookers who belonged to the general public as well. Shockwave ignored them all as they called their name and clambered for them to answer their questions. Orion stuck in close behind them, trying not to get lost in the crowd. 

As soon as they’d entered the building, Shockwave saw Proteus talking to an assistant. “Proteus!” they shouted, walking towards in swift, purposeful strides that Orion could barely keep up with. “It is a madhouse out there. Did Militech not promise to provide security?”

“If I recall correctly, you opposed Militech’s involvement in City Council affairs,” Proteus replied calmly. 

“Well, if they’re going to be here they might as well be useful,” Shockwave snapped. 

Proteus waved a hand. “No, you’re right, you’re right. Someone find Sentinel, get him to disperse the crowd.” He threw a sidelong glance at Shockwave. “ _ Non-violently _ . Now who’s this?” He gestured to Orion.

“Officer Orion Pax from the thirty-third precinct in Lower Iacon is acting as my bodyguard for the day,” Shockwave told him tersely. 

“Right,” Proteus said. “You do realize that non-Councilors are not permitted to witness Council meetings?”

“Except under extreme circumstances,” Shockwave said. “Haven’t you read the news? The reporter responsible for this story has gone missing, and with me being the one who’s spearheading this meeting and the push to do something about Thyranotos, I have reason to believe that I may be ‘disappeared’ as well. So. Orion stays with me.” 

“You’ll have to take it up with the other Councilors.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand my reasoning.”

Proteus gave them a patronizing smile. “I’m sure.” 

Within fifteen minutes, the meeting had begun. If the other Councilors disliked Orion’s presence, they didn’t say it. It was likely they had other things on their minds. It was clear from the get-go that it was Shockwave and Dai Atlas versus everyone else. Orion didn’t dare speak a word, he just flicked his eyes around the room as the arguments bounced back and forth. Contrary to what Shockwave had predicted, Councilor Hollyhock was present, and he was spewing the same nonsense that Orion had seen him spew on the news. In fact, the only difference between the version of Hollyhock Orion saw on TV and the Hollyhock sitting across from him was that he looked even older in person. 

“This is all some sort of scheme!” he insisted, pounding his fist. “None of this can be true.” 

“Councilor, we all saw the proof. If it is a scheme, it’s an impressive one,” Shockwave responded. They kept their voice even, but Orion saw their eye twitch. “And I’d rather risk going in there only to find nothing than do nothing and risk letting children rot away.” 

Justinia was wringing her hands. “And we’re certain there’s children in there?”

“Once again, we’ve all seen the proof.” 

“Of course, of course, Councilor Shockwave. I am just unsure that it’s our place to interfere.”

“I agree with Councilor Justinia,” Proteus said. A chorus of agreement swept around the room. 

Shockwave ignored Proteus and turned back to Justinia. “Moses could have left the Hebrews in Egypt, could he not have? In fact, he could have stayed in Egypt, in his place of privilege, and done nothing about his people’s plight. He could have ignored everything his conscience told him was wrong about this situation and continued to live in luxury. He could have ignored  _ God _ and lived peacefully in the desert until the day he died. But he didn’t. He did the right thing. The Bible encourages that, does it not? Doing the right thing. And Moses had a lot more to lose than we do.”

Justinia didn’t attempt to reply. She only looked down at her hands. Orion looked around the room. Proteus, Veil, Hollyhock, and Ratbat seemed unimpressed. Dai Atlas looked at Shockwave appreciatively. Momus and Sherma looked intrigued. Decimus just looked bored. 

Finally, Ratbat spoke. “Doesn’t this impose on the free market?” 

“Personally,” Dai Atlas said. “I don’t believe that the free market trumps the health and wellbeing of people who have been  _ kidnapped _ .” He was speaking like it was obvious. Which it was. But arguing ethics with people like Ratbat was like arguing with a brick wall. 

“Of course not,” Shockwave agreed. “But perhaps there will be other benefits to searching Thyranotos’ campus. We can find their research, figure out exactly what they’ve done to these people. Perhaps reverse it, if the people so desire.” They glanced at Dai Atlas. “Or else, make sure these experiments can’t be repeated.” 

But Ratbat hadn’t heard that last part, or had ignored it, and Shockwave had him. Shockwave was right; they were marvellously good at this. 

“I think what Councilors Shockwave and Dai Atlas are proposing is a good idea,” Decimus said, speaking for the first time. “There are people in there, and our duty is to the people. Not to some nebulous idea of the ‘free market,’ as Ratbat suggests.” He still looked bored even as he said it. He was good, too, but not nearly as subtle as Shockwave. 

“Thank you, Councilor Decimus,” Dai Atlas said. 

Proteus scowled, and then Veil said, “Momus, Sherma, we haven’t heard from you yet.” 

Sherma spoke first, albeit meekly. “I am inclined to agree with Councilors Shockwave and Dai Atlas. There is little risk here, but a substantial potential reward. Momus?”

Momus paused for a moment, then said, “I am inclined to agree as well.” 

_ That’s a majority _ , Orion noted.  _ Now we need the consensus. Five down, three to go _ . 

“I refuse to be pressured into such an obvious trick,” Hollyhock said, folding his arms. 

Justinia looked over at him and frowned. “You know, Councilor Hollyhock, if you could explain this trick and how exactly you think it’s going to play out, I am absolutely all ears.” 

“If you can’t see it, that’s your problem,” Hollyhock retorted.

Shockwave leaned back in their chair. “Perhaps it is our problem, Councilor Hollyhock. But maybe you could enlighten us. What exactly do you think is going to happen if we go through with my plan to free those imprisoned on the Thyranotos campus?”

“Any number of things,” Hollyhock grumped. He certainly stuck to his guns. Orion would give him that much. “It could be an ambush, or some sort of trap. It could all be something set up by some gang to take out their competition and get us to waste our resources.”

“A very excellent point. Now what do you think will happen to you if you don’t go along with this plan?” Shockwave said icily. That was a threat. Orion had never seen Shockwave threaten anyone before. It just wasn’t in their nature. He knew that they didn’t mean it, that they had no power to harm Hollyhock, that they just said that because they knew Hollyhock believed it, but it was still frightening to behold. Orion shivered despite himself. 

Hollyhock pursed his lips, trying not to look scared. Even from across the room, Orion could tell that Shockwave’s intimidation tactic was working.

Proteus glared at Hollyhock. “Well, I will not bow to your whims, Councilor Shockwave, even if others might, and that is not something that’s going to change. I move to adjourn.” He looked at Veil expectantly. 

Veil looked impassive, and didn’t second Proteus’ motion. Instead, she looked around the room, and said, “When I saw the news last night, I have to admit that I was thoroughly shaken. I could not believe that my former employer would take such heinous actions, and right under my very nose. So, I apologize, Proteus, but I cannot second your motion to adjourn this meeting, because I will not let this pass by us unnoticed. For all the power we have, it is given to us by the people, and if we fail to free those trapped in the Thyranotos facility, we will be failing everyone who has given us our power. And if we do that, we will lose our power.” 

And that was Proteus’ worst fear, wasn’t it? Losing his power. If he wasn’t a City Councilor, Militech would stop paying him, he’d lose his status and notoriety. He’d be left with nothing. 

Shockwave must have seen that realization, because they said, “I move to vote. With consensus, we will officially shut down Thyranotos’ genetic engineering program, confiscate their research, and free every one of its subjects.”

“I second that motion,” Veil said. 

“Very well then. All in favor say ‘aye.’” A chorus of “aye’s” swept the room. “And all opposed, say ‘nay.’” Shockwave stared hard at Proteus, but he kept his mouth shut. “Good. We will deploy the police as well as the Council security forces before noon.”

And that was that. 

“I can’t believe you kept your cool in there,” Orion remarked as they left the main hall. “I would’ve boiled over with rage.”

“Trust me, I was furious,” Shockwave told him. “But my anger has gotten me in trouble in the past. I’ve learned to play my emotions closer to my chest.”

“But you still have them?”

Shockwave laughed. “Of course I still have them. It’s just a game I have to play if I want to make anything. A stupid, pointless game. But it’s one I can win, now.” They sighed. “Roller’s here now, with Springarm. I just got a text from him. I have to stay and make sure everything runs smoothly, make sure Proteus and Sentinel don’t try anything but you—you should go home.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” Orion asked. 

“You need rest. You haven’t seen your apartment in a good seventy-two hours,” Shockwave replied. “You need a shower and a fresh pair of pants and water your plants. Go home, Orion.” And then they pulled him into a tight hug. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve found a way,” Orion replied.  _ Tell them now,  _ a little voice whispered in his brain,  _ Tell them you love them _ . He hugged back.  _ Not now. Not yet. We don’t have time for that conversation.  _

“Maybe I would’ve. But you made it easier.” 

Springarm drove him back to his apartment. It was a mostly silent ride. Despite his restful sleep the night before, Orion found himself exhausted. He missed Shockwave.  _ You’ve been apart from them for fifteen minutes, chill out.  _ He was certain he’d made the right choice in not confessing his feelings. That would’ve been weird and not the right venue at all. And tomorrow was always another day. 

To escape his turmoiled thoughts, he asked Springarm, “How’s Roller holding up?”

“He’s fine,” Springarm replied. “Exhausted and worried about you and Shockwave, but fine. He um. We kind of got into it last night. I saw the news and then he came home all of a sudden and I just knew that him and you and Shockwave had all been involved somehow.”

“I’m sorry,” Orion said.

“Don’t be—I mean,  _ do  _ be, but. I understand why you did it. I was mad at him. I’m a little mad at you, too. You didn’t trust me or Wheelarch enough to involve us when we could’ve helped but. But there’s nothing to be done now, I guess.”

“Does Wheelarch know about any of this?”

“No. He knows you’ve been weird lately. Calling in sick, coming in late and leaving early and not talking so much, but he just thinks you’re in love.”

_ I am _ . “Are you going to tell him?”

“No. I think you should.” 

“I will. Now that everything’s out in the open, I will.” 

It wasn’t even ten am when Orion reached his apartment. It felt strange being here after so many nights crashing at Shockwave’s. Ugh. He felt disgusting. Shockwave was right. He needed a shower and a change of clothes. His apartment needed a little TLC too. The plants were looking a little down and out. The apartment itself felt cramped and dirty after the simple elegance of Shockwave’s place. There were no paintings on the walls, no carpet on the floor, and the couch was frayed and dusty. He barely used it, after all. After all this time sleeping on Shockwave’s couch, he couldn’t imagine the inverse. He couldn’t imagine  _ anyone  _ sleeping on that couch. He could barely imagine sitting on it. 

The rest of the day passed in the same way days had passed before he’d met Shockwave: slowly, and with little excitement. He tried not to get lost in his head too much, tried to focus his energy on tending to his own well-being. Thinking about Shockwave and Thyranotos and Spectrum only made him uneasy. Where was Spectrum now? Was she alright? Her body hadn’t washed up on the beach in the past 24 hours, so there was a chance she may be alive. Could she have escaped? Would she have told Shockwave if she had, or would she have considered that too dangerous? He shook his head, as if to shake his thoughts out of it. Maybe when the campus was raided they’d find her. That would be a relief. 

Evening came more quickly than Orion expected. He’d kept an eye on the news the whole day. The search of Thyranotos’ campus went off seemingly without a hitch, though the Council and their team were understandably tight-lipped about what they’d found. After brushing his teeth for the first time in two days, Orion crawled into his own bed, again, for the first time in two days. It was smaller and less comfortable than Shockwave’s bed, or even their couch. He’d only just bought a bed frame for it a few months ago. Bed frames were expensive. Still, even with the exhaustion of the past few days catching up to him, sleep was still evasive. He kept tossing and turning, thinking about everything that had happened. And that feeling, that sinking dread, that surety that something had gone wrong that had been following him since Spectrum’s trial, returned in full force, eating away at his brain as he tried to pass out. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, though, because the next thing he knew he was waking up to his phone blaring on his nightstand. It was Roller’s ringtone. The clock on the dresser read 3:55 am. He picked up the phone. 

“Roller?” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Orion—oh thank God you’re okay.” He sounded strained. In pain, possibly, or close to tears. “It’s Shockwave. They took them.” And that was the moment that Orion’s heart stopped beating. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And *now* it all kicks off. Sorry for the cliffhanger. Then again, you probably know what's happened.


	8. From Now On We Are Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things really *really* kick off this chapter. Also Megatron's back! For good this time. He's in every chapter after this one. Things are gonna be a pretty angsty in the first half, though, so be warned.

“They came in here, soldiers, they looked like soldiers. Not police. They were dressed all in black and they—I couldn’t stop them. They grabbed me and said they’d kill me if Shockwave didn’t come with them. And Shockwave agreed. I told them not to, but they didn’t listen! And then the soldiers shot me in the leg so I couldn’t follow.”

_ Don’t panic.  _ Don’t  _ panic.  _ He was panicking. “Where are you now?” Orion asked, his voice sounding frayed around the edges, even to him. 

“On the floor of their apartment. Orion, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t—I couldn’t  _ stop them _ —I couldn’t  _ save them,  _ I was supposed to be their bodyguard and I couldn’t—“

Orion closed his eyes, let his police’s instincts take over.  _ Talk to him the way you talk to a hostage. Or someone who’s overdosed.  _ “You’re Trauma Team Silver, right? Call an ambulance. When you get to the hospital, ask for Ratchet. She’s a doctor I know, she can be trusted. She should be working right now. If she’s busy, say nothing to no one about what happened. If you see her, tell her not to let anyone other than me, Springarm, or Wheelarch in. I’m going to call Springarm, send him to come and see you. Sit tight. Everything will be okay.” He wasn’t sure why he told Roller that. He didn’t believe it. 

Fresh off the back of his conversation with Springarm the previous morning, Orion called his friend. “Springarm, Roller’s in the hospital. He’s been shot.”

Springarm, his voice still thick with sleep, said, “What? Is he okay?”

“I think so. He didn’t sound like he was dying. But Shockwave’s been kidnapped. Can you go to the hospital and take care of Roller?” 

“Of course I—Orion, don’t you dare do anything stupid.”

Orion sighed. “I can’t involve you and Wheelarch in this, if that’s what you want. I may need to break into the Thyranotos campus. I think that’s where Shockwave is, and I’m not losing them.” 

Springarm sighed too, even harder. “This is a stupid thing. They’re a City Councilor, they won’t be allowed to just vanish. You don’t have to go storming in after them.”

_ I don’t— _ Orion sat back down on his bed and buried his head in his hands. He’d gotten dressed and everything.  _ Of course. They’re a City Councilor. Friends in high places and all that.  _ “Right, of course. They can’t be—of course, you’re right, Springarm.”

“Now I’m going to check on Roller in the hospital. You should make some calls to Prowl or someone else Downtown—or, better yet, call whoever’s head of security at City Hall. They can begin the search for Shockwave, and you can get in on that rather than storming off somewhere by yourself.”

Springarm made a lot of sense. Going directly to Thyranotos to find Shockwave was a stupid, dumb idea. One that might get him killed, or worse. Of course, he wouldn’t call the head of security at City Hall. That was Sentinel, he was a Militech goon, and Shockwave hated him as much as they hated Proteus, if not more. Sentinel would never even bother to think about looking for Shockwave. And so, as much as it pained him not to look for Shockwave himself, he called Prowl instead. Prowl didn’t pick up. So he called Prowl’s precinct. 

Someone who wasn’t Prowl picked up the phone. “Second precinct, how may I help you?” the voice on the other end said.

“This is Officer Orion Pax from the thirty-third precinct in Lower Iacon. I’m calling to report a missing person—City Councilor Shockwave of Rodion Centre.”

“Mm,” the person on the other end said. “Councilor...Shockwave, was it? I’ll make a note of that. Hold please.”

That was odd. “ _ Hold?  _ This is an emergency line! There is no hold!” At least there wasn’t at Orion’s precinct.

“I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to wait.”

Orion felt his blood begin to boil. How was this happening? “Wait?  _ Wait?!  _ Is Prowl there? I need to speak to Prowl.”

“Prowl is not here,” the person replied. “I’m sorry. Captain Flatfoot is here, but is busy at the moment. So again, you’ll have to hold.”

Orion hung up and dropped his phone to the floor.  _ What the hell is going on?  _ What was he going to do? He was just sitting here in his bedroom in his goddamn  _ bluejeans  _ waiting for someone to do something. And nobody was. Nobody was doing anything. And maybe it was because it was four in the morning, and the search would be underway come dawn, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe nobody would ever do anything to find Shockwave. Maybe it was all some grand conspiracy to—his phone was ringing. Shockwave’s ringtone. He swiped it up off of the floor and answered it at lightning speed.

“Shockwave?! Shockwave, are you—?”

“Orion, please,” Shockwave said. And it was so good to hear their voice. “I don’t have much time. They said—I asked for one phone call. Just to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? What are you talking about?” 

“Orion, we did something amazing. The people who were trapped, who were being experimented upon, they’re free now. They’re free and they’ll be alright. And you will be, too. But you can’t come looking for me.”

“Fuck that!” Orion exclaimed, despite himself. “Where are you? Tell me where you are!” 

“I can’t.” They sounded so mournful that Orion started to get choked up. “Even if I knew, I couldn’t let you put your life at risk for me. I didn’t let Roller do it, and I won’t let you.”

“Shockwave, please, I—“

“You will do  _ fantastic  _ things, Orion. I know it, in my heart of hearts. You’ll change this city for the better, hell, you’ll change the whole goddamn world. Just know that if I don’t see you again, I love you, if I die, I’ve died happy, and if they—if they change me: remember me as I was. Goodbye, Orion.”

“No! No, no, no, no, no—please!” But Shockwave had already hung up. Orion tried to call them back, but the call didn’t go through. He roared at the dead line, and then hurled his phone at the wall. It bounced off and landed lamely on the floor. He dug his fingernails into his cheeks. He didn’t know what to do, he  _ didn’t know what to do _ . Shockwave was gone, kidnapped by Thyranotos, and he had to get them back, he  _ had to _ , but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how. How. 

In less than the span of a moment’s width, he had his jacket on and was out the door of his apartment, running full tilt towards his car in the darkness of the cruel morning. 

It was less than five minutes before Orion’s car skidded onto West James Street, which clearly hadn’t been constructed with cars in mind. It was barely wide enough to accommodate the vehicle, and it was only half paved. Nevertheless, Orion proceeded, pedal to the metal, until he screeched to a halt outside of address 113. He ran down to Megatron’s door and pounded on it, causing it to rattle on its hinges. If Megatron was home, he was probably asleep, so he might not hear the knocking. Still, Orion had to at least try. 

To his surprise, a few moments later, Megatron answered the door. He was in his pajamas, and he looked surprised to see Orion. “Orion? What’s going on?”

“I need your help!” Orion blurted out. “Something happened, and I don’t know what to do about it.” 

Megatron opened the door all the way and stood aside. “Come in.” 

Sitting in Megatron’s—apartment? House?—Orion filled him in while Megatron drank black coffee out of a cracked mug. Megatron’s place was even dingier than Orion’s, with a low ceiling and concrete floor. It was little more than an unfinished basement. 

“That is troubling,” Megatron said, his eyebrows knitted together. “Of course I’ll help. But it may take a few days. We need to plan. Breaking into Thyranotos is no easy feat. I’m not sure how your journalist friend managed it for so long before getting caught.”

Orion shook his head. “I wish I knew. Our conversations were pretty bare-bones. I don’t think that even Shockwave knew.”  _ Knows. They still don’t know.  _

Megatron held his chin and put his elbow on the table. “This raid has made things both easier and harder. Harder because they’ll have beefed up security since they found out your friend was breaking in, but easier since Thyranotos would have had to give them access to a lot of documents—patient records, maps, blueprints, access codes, staff ID’s. And that means that there are people outside of Thyranotos who have those things now. And so those things are easier for us to get.” Megatron stood up and walked over to an ancient computer sitting on a rough-hewn desk. “The only problem is that I’m not really a hacker. I can give it the old college try, but even with the stuff we need outside Thyranotos, I don’t think accessing them is within my skill level.” 

“So what do you propose we do?” Orion asked.

“Do you know any hackers?”

“No. Shockwave was— _ is _ a hacker. But that doesn’t help.” 

“No it doesn’t.” Megatron hit a couple of keys on the keyboard and then leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I know a couple of Myriad hackers who could help out. But reaching out to them would be risky, and potentially expensive.”

“I can pay. I have money. Not a lot, but some.” 

“Hold your horses, you might not have to. There’s also a Romeo who owes me a favor. Best hacker in Paksa-Grazie, though that’s not saying much. And they won’t be happy to help, but they owe me a life debt so they have to or else I get to kill them.”

Orion stared at Megatron, slack-jawed. “You get to kill them?”

Megatron shrugged. “I won’t, but they don’t know that. They’re paranoid as fuck.”

“You have  _ life debts  _ in the Myriad?”

“Kinda?” Megatron said. “I mean yes, we do. The leader of the Myriad before Galvatron came up with the practice, and then it kinda caught on with the other gangs. It’s like this: if you save someone’s life, they owe you, and they owe you until they save your life back or until they’ve done you an equivalent favor. And if you ask for an equivalent favor, and they don’t do it, you can kill them if you want, because you gave them their life, and you can take it back. So the long and short of it is: I saved Kickswitch’s life. I prevented Galvatron from taking out a hit on them, and now they owe me.” 

Orion shook his head. “That is really, really weird. Why haven’t I heard about this before? This is definitely something the we could’ve used to our advantage.”

“That’s y’all’s problem, not ours.”

“So,” Orion said. “We talk to this Kickswitch friend of yours? And then what?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Talking to Kickswitch won’t be easy— _ finding  _ them won’t be easy. It’s like I said, they’re crazy paranoid. Even the Romeos can’t find them half the time, and Kickswitch works for the Romeos.” 

Orion stood up from the table. “Then lets get started.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with Kickswitch before I knew that there was already a Transformers character named Quickswitch. My bad.


	9. The Land of the Silver Soil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heist planning time! And we get more insight into the minutiae of syndicate existence. 
> 
> Also, now that I've dropped the title in text, Die Happy, and the title of the first chapter, Is This Dystopia? both come from the song "Die Happy" by Metric. It's a good song.

Orion didn’t spend a lot of time in Paksa-Grazie. In fact, he made a point of avoiding it. Most people did if they could. Paksa-Grazie was a small, densely packed neighborhood, with lopsided buildings towering over the narrow streets and the smells of sweat and gasoline permeating the air. 

They didn’t know where Kickswitch was, but the district that housed the Romeos was a good place to start. Megatron led him through the crowded streets, and Orion followed so closely that his chest almost touched Megatron’s back. 

They were already deep in the labyrinth of Paksa-Grazie when Orion asked, “Are we going somewhere specific?”

“Yup,” Megatron replied. “We’re looking for the P-GIB.”

“The what?”

“The P-GIB. Paksa-Grazie Information Broker. She knows the whereabouts of everyone who lives in the district. And unlike Kickswitch, she doesn’t move around. In fact, she’s pretty easy to find if you know where to look.”

It was then that the two of them rounded a corner into a more deserted back alley at the end of which sat what appeared to be a dilapidated garage with a tarp hanging over the entrance. 

“Why haven’t I heard of these information brokers before?” 

“Unlike life debts, this is on us. They’re a pretty well-kept secret,” Megatron answered. “For gang use only. And they’re protected. Endangering the life of a Broker, even indirectly, is punishable by death. Very, very painful death. The last P-GIB got arrested a little bit ago, and there was hell to pay for the Romeo who leaked her address. But here we are.” He knocked on the frame that had once held the garage door. “Someone to see you. Two someone’s, actually.”

“Come in,” a light voice replied. And they entered.

The empty garage looked on the inside exactly how Orion had expected it to look from the outside. Concrete floor, scrap wood and metal strewn everywhere, and a fire roaring in a metal barrel in the center of the room. Sat in front of it on an unbalanced stool was a teenage girl. She wore black lipstick and heavy black boots.  _ Was this the Information Broker?  _

“We’re looking for someone,” Megatron announced without introducing himself or Orion.

“Be more specific,” the P-GIB instructed. She was staring into the flames. 

“Kickswitch of Paksa-Grazie,” Megatron said. Then, after a brief silence, he added, “Hacker in Romeo employ.”

“I know who you’re talking about, Megatron of Tarn,” the P-GIB replied, finally pulling her gaze away from the fire to stare directly into Megatron’s eyes. “Bold of you to show your face in P-G, Myriad.”

Megatron shifted his weight uncomfortably. “As I’m sure you know, I’m no longer with the Myriad.”

“I do know. That news made big waves. Not that it matters here. To the Romeos, you’re born Myriad, you die Myriad. Of course, you’re bold to show your face anywhere with Galvatron on your tail.” 

Megatron’s expression was stony. “I’ve made it quite clear to Galvatron that any attempts on my life won’t be tolerated.”

“Good for you.” The P-GIB’s tone was unreadable. She turned to face the two of them. “Who’s your friend? I haven’t seen him around here before.”

“Orion. I’m going to tell you up front that he’s a cop. But he has no interest in arresting you or anyone else here.”

“He better not,” she said, eyeing Orion up and down. “Or it’s over for the both of you. So. Kickswitch. They paid me good money to make sure I didn’t tell anyone where they went when they left here.” 

“They owe me a life debt,” Megatron informed her.

“Not my problem. My problem is payment. I’ll tell you where they are if you pay me more than they did. It’s that simple.”

“I have money.” 

“Except I don’t want money, Megatron. Kickswitch already gave me money. I want information. Tell me something I don’t know, something important, and I may tell you where Kickswitch went.” The P-GIB folded her arms. “Those are my terms.” 

“I—“

But Orion had already stepped forward. “City Councilor Shockwave has been kidnapped by Thyranotos. It’s not public knowledge yet, but it happened this morning at around 3:30. News of their disappearance will break soon, but I doubt the media will dare link it to Thyranotos. I think Councilor Proteus and the head of security at City Hall, Sentinel, are both in on it. Shockwave was a political rival of theirs. Shockwave’s friend, Spectrum, the journalist who published the exposé on Thyranotos’ genetic engineering experiments was kidnapped in a similar manner shortly before the story was published. Shockwave was the one responsible for publishing the story, and I helped them. I brought Spectrum’s documents from prison to their apartment and we compiled the evidence and the story together.”

The P-GIB looked incredulous. “That is a dangerous admission, and a lot of knowledge to dump on a girl before noon. Unfortunately, I have little use for political information. That’s way outside of my wheelhouse.”

Orion sighed. It had been worth a shot. 

“I’m starting a revolution,” Megatron broke in. “That’s why I split from the Myriad. I’m using gang money to put together a guerrilla army and drive the corporations out. And I’m stealing from gangs and corporations alike to do it.”

This time the P-GIB laughed and clapped her hands together. “You are bold! That’s the kind of information I like to hear. Shit that will affect the people on the ground. A revolution! Hilarious! Y’know, I don’t know many Myriads personally, but I’ve heard you all are bonkers. Jesus.”

Megatron folded his arms. “Is that enough?”

“More than. Kickswitch of Paksa-Grazie lives in Tarn now, somewhere deep in the trash. Looks like you’re going home, Megatron.” 

Tarn. Tarn. One of the few districts in the city that Orion had never bothered to pay a visit to. And why would he? There were no shops or restaurants, no parks or wide open streets. The only people who lived there were the people who worked there, and the only people who worked there were those who tended to the trash, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Or so he’d heard. Because he’d never been. Apparently, Megatron was born there, to a landfill worker named Bex, so he’d informed Orion upon their second meeting. But Megatron wasn’t talking now. He was just driving. Driving and staring straight ahead at the road. 

They got off of Iacon Highway at exit 57, long after any of the exits Orion had ever used. This exit took the form of a long and winding road that twisted through buildings that got shorter and shorter and farther and farther apart until there were none. And then they were in Tarn. Orion could tell by the smell; it seeped into the car even though the windows were closed. And then the trash came. It was scattered haphazardly across the sides of the road at first, and then it got denser, and denser, and denser until Megatron pulled the car over onto a patch of scraggly grass. “We’re here,” he announced, stepping out of the car. 

What Orion had heard had been correct. Mostly correct, anyway. Tarn wasn’t trash as far as the eye could see, but it was pretty damn close. Orion could see the hazy outline of the desert beyond the city and the mountains beyond that, but up until that point, it was all garbage. Well, almost all garbage. In the middle sat an ugly brick building that was belching smoke into the clear blue sky. Metal walkways and stairs led up to it from various points in the landfill, and people dotted those stairs and walkways, small and insignificant from this distance. Little shacks lined the edge of the landfill, many of them in ruins, with collapsed roofs or concave walls. Orion looked down and noticed the dirt under his feet. There wasn’t dirt or soil many places in the city, but this dirt was wrong, somehow. Orion squatted down an ran a little bit of it through his fingers. It was flecked with silver shards of metal.  _ How could anyone live here? How could anyone  _ bear  _ to live here?  _

“Let’s go,” Megatron said.

“Go where?”

“Where do you think? Down into the trash.”

“Does Kickswitch not live in one of those?” Orion gestured to the huts surrounding to the landfill. 

“Unlikely. If they’re desperate enough to move to Tarn, they’re going to make the most of it.” 

Wandering through the heaps of trash was a surreal experience. It felt like a desert in its own right, though not the flat kind that lay beyond the city. The piles of garbage were as good as sand dunes, and the decomposition that lurked underneath what would never decompose made the world around them sweltering. Occasionally, something in the piles would shift, as if there was something inside of them that was just waiting to leap out and devour them. Orion would nearly jump out of his skin every time it happened, but the shifting didn’t phase Megatron. 

“What are we looking for?” Orion asked after what felt like hours of wandering around the piles of trash. 

“Anything out of place,” Megatron answered. “Signs of habitation.” 

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Footprints, an area that’s been cleaned out, a smell that isn’t the smell of garbage.”

“Or a door?”

“Yeah, sure, or a door.”

Orion pointed. “Like that one?” If you weren’t looking for a door, you might not have noticed it. It was little more than a sheet of corrugated metal leaning against a steep mountain. But upon closer inspection, there was a wooden handle bolted to it, with a sign hanging from it that read ‘KEEP OUT.’

Megatron stared at the door for a long moment. “That’s probably it. Good eye.” Then he went up and knocked on it.

The door slammed open so hard and fast that it whacked Megatron in the face. Standing in it was a very tall, unbelievably skinny person with short black hair and tiny rectangular glasses. “Who is it?!” they shouted. Then, spotting Orion, “Who are you? What do you want? Go away!” They caught eye of Orion’s badge. “You’re a cop! You gonna arrest me cop?”

Orion flinched. 

“Slow your roll, Kickswitch,” Megatron said, stepping around the door. “It’s me. And Orion’s a friend.”

“Megatron!” Kickswitch exclaimed. “I’d hoped I’d never have to see your ugly mug again.”

Megatron rubbed his forehead where the door smacked into it. “Hey, I personally think I’m pretty handsome. ‘Sides, you owe me a life debt.”

Kickswitch scowled. “As if I could ever forget. You should’ve just let Galvatron take the hit out on me. I would’ve liked to see his assassins try.”

Megatron eyed their lanky frame. “Right. Well, I need something. I assume you’ve got some kind of setup in there?”

Kickswitch snorted. “It’s like you don’t even know me, Megs. Of course I do.” And then they turned around and walked inside. 

It was surprisingly cool in the cramped hut built into the mountain of garbage. Cooler than it was outside, anyway. The area was no bigger than ten by ten feet, and of course, everything smelled of rot. Kickswitch sat down at a desk that was strewn with all manner of electronic devices. “What do you need?” 

“Thyranotos records. As much as you can find. Maps. Employee data.”

Kickswitch raised an eyebrow. “You know I can’t get that sort of thing from here. I’d need to get into the incinerator building, or possibly even leave Tarn, which are both heists in and of themselves. I assume you’re planning a heist?”

“Of sorts,” Orion answered.

“The Council has the records,” Megatron said.

“Oh. That’s much easier then. Anything else I can help you with? I assume just getting the records won’t let me off the life debt hook.”

“Well, I would appreciate it if you would be our person in the chair during the heist. You know, run logistics and maintain our cover throughout. We can’t do it without you, and this would be more than enough to cover the life debt thing,” Megatron said. 

Kickswitch sighed and opened up a battered laptop. “What are you stealing? Medicine? Patient records? I promise there are easier ways to get both of those things.”

“It’s less of a heist and more of a rescue,” Orion explained. “Thyranotos kidnapped my friend.”

“Ah. About time someone noticed.” Noticing Orion and Megatron’s quizzical stares they continued, “Thyranotos tends to eat people. Not literally of course, but people disappear onto that campus and don’t come out. And when they do come out, they’re different. Listless, or manic, or angry, or missing body parts they had before they went in. It’s a huge conspiracy theory online. It’s mostly people from the poorer districts who go missing, but if you’re a cop, your friend must know people in high places.” 

“They’re a City Councilor, actually.”

“A what? No way.”

“Have you seen the news lately?” Megatron ventured. “Spectrum of Nyon’s reports on Thyranotos’ genetic engineering experiments? Her subsequent disappearance? The Council’s raid?”

“No,” Kickswitch replied. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m living in a landfill.”

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, the long and short of it is that all that all that shit you just told us we already knew. In fact, the whole city knows. The Council put a stop to Thyranotos’ experiments, though, confiscated the research, and arrested a lot of the scientists. But now the Councilor who made that all happen has been kidnapped, and we’re looking to go find them.”

Kickswitch leaned back in their chair. “Well, shit. You’re fucking crazy, both of you, for trying this, ‘cause no one comes out of Thyranotos unless Thyranotos lets them out, but I do fuckin’ owe you, so I guess I’m in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kickswitch and the P-GIB are the first two major OC characters. Hope you enjoyed them!


	10. Plate Tectonics, Part 1: Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heist time yeehaw

If someone had told Orion when he was nineteen and just entering the force, that one day, about a decade from then, he’d be squatting in front of a trap door that led into the basement of Thyranotos’ principal lab building, during an attempt to break into the thing, while collaborating with two known gang members. Well. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done but he sure wouldn’t have believed them. But there he was, waiting for Megatron to use his copied keycard to get in through Thyranotos’ front door and let him in the basement. 

“The most I can do in the way of a key card false ID thing for you is copying an existing one and slapping your picture on it,” Kickswitch has explained earlier. “I’m not a forger, and if you plan on doing this on the reg I’d try to find one.” But that was a goal for later. The current goal was attaching Kickswitch’s remote hacking device to the electronic lock on the trap door and getting Orion inside without triggering any alarms. 

Orion squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his racing heart.  _ I’m coming for you Shockwave. I’ll do whatever it takes.  _ A moment later, the doors to the basement swung inwards, and there was Megatron, smiling up at him. Orion had to admit that he looked rather dashing, in a lab coat and frameless glasses with his silver hair slicked back. “Come on down,” Megatron said. “We’ll start at the bottom and work our way up. Kickswitch has full control of the cameras, so no one will see us without us knowing it. Now let’s get you a lab coat. There may be some other scientists still here, working late.” 

The Thyranotos building was not what Orion had expected. It was large, sure, and clean, but not nearly as sterile and sinister as he’d imagined. There were big windows in every lab, beautiful paintings on the hallway walls, and lush plants in the common areas. It looked more like an academic building than the home of an evil biotechnology corporation. 

“I can see you on the cameras now,” Kickswitch said into their earpieces. “And now...boom. The security guards can’t. Just stay out of the way of the ones who’re on patrol. According to the Council’s documents, the genetic engineering subjects were kept on the top floor, so which isn’t on the maps they hand out to visitors. I reckon that’s where Shockwave is, but be thorough on your way up just in case. Check for hidden doors.” 

They did, pressing on every cinderblock just to see if one gave, even just a little. None did. The labs were mostly locked, and Kickswitch informed them that there was nothing within. They made their way up to the top floor. The door from the stairwell into the hallway was locked, of course, and had a big ‘AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY’ sign on in. Megatron’s keycard got them in. 

The top hallway was completely deserted. In fact, it looked like it had been deserted for several days. Unlike the lower floors, there was a very fine, almost imperceptible layer of dust on the floor, and unlike the lower floors, there were no windows, no paintings, and no plants. On the left side of the hall were labs not unlike the ones they’d seen previously, though they were interspersed with operating rooms. On the right side of the hall were what could only be described as cells, with glass front walls for observation. The cells were empty, save for beds in all of them, books in some of them, toys in others, and in one, crayon drawings on the white drywall. No sign of Shockwave. 

Orion stopped at the end of the hall. They’d been there for nearly two hours, scouring the building, and there was not even a hint that Shockwave was present. 

“Kickswitch?” Megatron said into his earpiece. “No dice.”

There was a long silence on the other end. Megatron looked nervously at Orion. Orion closed his eyes. “I’m looking at every map we have,” Kickswitch finally said. “It doesn’t look like there’s any other place they store prisoners, for lack of a better term. You two could be in there for days before you find anything. And that’s not counting the offshoot facilities around the city. Or any of the other campuses in other cities. I’m sorry Orion, but if Shockwave isn’t here, they could be anywhere.” 

Orion knew what they said was true. He furrowed his brow and said, “Then we keep looking.”

Megatron reached out to him. “Orion—“

“I don’t care if it takes days! If it takes days, then it takes days! I’m not—I’m not  _ leaving  _ them here.”

“I don’t have the resources for more heists like this. And Kickswitch doesn’t have time.”

“I have time, I just don’t want to,” Kickswitch butted in. 

“We could search the city for years and never find them, or find them only for it to be too late.” 

Orion whirled around and grabbed onto Megatron’s shoulders. “Then at least I’ll have found them! I can’t just  _ give up _ .”

“Quiet down!” Kickswitch whisper-screeched in his ear. “Or you’ll get the whole security team on your asses!” 

Megatron shook his head. “You won’t give up. But Shockwave will never forgive you if you get yourself arrested or killed looking for them. You said it yourself: you have important work to do outside of this place, life- _ saving  _ work.”

Orion looked up at Megatron, blinking back tears. “Do I? I’m just another Lower Iacon beat cop who fell in with some smart people.” 

Megatron’s shoulders sunk, and he shrugged off Orion’s grasp. “Stay here all night if you want,” he said. “I have important work to do, even if you think you don’t.” 

Climbing back out of the basement, every fiber in Orion’s body was screaming at him to stay.  _ You can find them! You can’t just  _ give up!  _ Shockwave wouldn’t give up on finding you!  _ Megatron grabbed Orion’s hands and pulled him through the trap door. “I’m sorry.”

_ Everybody’s sorry.  _ It was all Orion could do not to collapse onto the ground. His legs were jelly underneath his hips. He couldn’t meet Megatron’s gaze, but he held onto his hands for a long moment. “Let’s just go,” he finally said. 

After they left, they didn’t go back to Megatron’s place. Instead they sat on the concrete wall above Lower Iacon overpass, looking down at the Militech warehouse where they’d met for the second time. The orange sodium vapor street lights made everything look washed out and dead. Cars meandered down the road below them, choking on the gasoline they ran on, looking as exhausted as Orion felt. It was ugly. This whole city was so unbearably ugly. “Ask me again,” Orion said.  

“What?”

“Ask me again,” Orion repeated.

“Ask you what again?” 

“To join you. To join your revolution.”

“Oh.” A long pause. “Will you join me? Will you help me free this city?”

Orion closed his eyes, finally letting tears slip from beneath his eyelids. “There is nothing in the world right now that would make me happier.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revolution time yeehaw


	11. What Deception Demands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Chief is voiced by Travis Willingham.

On Monday morning, Officer Orion Pax marched into his captain’s office in the thirty-third precinct in Lower Iacon and announced, “I lied to you. I lied to you and Springarm and Wheelarch and Prowl.”

Chief looked up from the mini TV he was watching. “What in the hell are you talking about?” he said. Then, “Siddown.” 

“I let Megatron go,” Orion explained.

“Am I supposed to no who that is?”

Orion sighed. No, he supposed Chief wouldn’t know who that is. “He was someone on Proteus and Veil’s list of Myriad and Romeo people. He was a Myriad who split from them a little more than a year ago. He started stealing from them. He explained all this to me, and I found him to be non-threatening. So I let him go.”

Chief’s expression was unamused. “Well? You got anything else to say? Any other wack-ass out of the blue confessions to make?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Orion told him. “Then I caught him breaking into the Militech warehouse under the overpass. And I let him go then. And then I deleted our records of his address from the database.” He’d done that just this morning. 

Chief, to his credit, looked dumbfounded. “Why on earth would you do something like that? You screwing him or something? Because that is the only logical explanation I can possibly come up with in this moment.”

“I’m not screwing him,” Orion said matter-of-factly. “I found his rhetoric to be convincing. And I don’t think he’s a threat to our society. He’s a property criminal, for crying out loud. And besides, Proteus and Veil only came up with their list to save face in the wake of that shooting, which Megatron—and most of the others on that list for that matter—weren’t involved in in any way.”

With each word Orion said, Chief’s face got redder and redder. “That was not your call to make!” he shouted. “Not once, not twice, and most certainly not  _ three fuckin’ times! _ It is not your place to question what the Council, what the  _ city  _ asks of us.” 

“The Council is a sham, and you know it!” Orion shouted back, standing up again, his chair scratching on the linoleum floor. “Everyone knows it! What little power they have they use for evil or inane shit, and now the only person on it who was worth a damn has gone missing, possibly for good.” 

“Listen, I know you’re upset about your friend—“

“This isn’t about them!” Orion interrupted. He could’ve sworn he saw smoke come out of Chief’s ears. You didn’t interrupt Chief. Ever. “This is about morality and truth and justice. All of which are severely lacking in this city.” 

“You’re the best lieutenant I ever had, Pax,” Chief snarled. “I can’t believe you’ve gone off the rails like this. I should fire you for this.”

“Maybe you should.”

Chief stood up to his full height. Sitting behind his desk all the time, it was easy to forget how large of a man he was. “You’re fired, Pax. You have an hour to clean out your desk.” 

“Keep all that shit,” Orion growled. Then he stormed out the door. 

Walking down the road towards his car, Springarm caught up with him. He grabbed Orion by the shoulder. “What the hell just happened in there?”

Orion shrugged. “I’m sure you heard most of it.”

“Where are you going?” 

“Home. You heard him. I’m fired. Chief fired me.”

“You provoked him. You  _ wanted  _ him to fire you,” Springarm accused. 

“Why on earth would I want that?”

Springarm threw up his hands. “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Is this about Shockwave?”

“No. Yes. Sort of. I don’t know.” 

“You just gave every possible answer to that question.” 

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Springarm exclaimed. “You’re my best friend, and you’re leaving me and Wheelarch to deal with Chief back there. What’s going on?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Orion said. “You heard everything I said in there. I lied to you. Why aren’t you mad?”

“Mad?  _ Mad? _ Orion, I’m fucking furious. But not because of Megatron. I barely remember that guy, though clearly he made an impression on you. I trust you, I trust your judgment. I would’ve, anyway, if you’d told me you wanted to let Megatron go. Why don’t you trust me?”

“It’s complicated,” Orion answered. “I’m not the person to explain it to you.”

“You’re the only person to explain it to me—“ But Orion was already getting in his car. “Orion, Orion, stop! Stop it, you fucking—you’re a—you’re making a mistake, you dumbass idiot bastard—stop!” 

Orion considered going to Megatron’s place for a moment, but then he would’ve lied to Springarm, and he didn’t want to do that anymore. Besides, it would be good to be home. He had been home only briefly since Shockwave’s disappearance, and before that it had been days. He didn’t want to live in a place that was not his home. It didn’t turn out well. He thought momentarily of Shockwave’s apartment, all stainless steel and abstract paintings on the walls, and how well Shockwave fit in that space of simple beauty, with their neatly braided hair, their colorful ties and fitted vests. And then he moved on. His apartment. White walls. Grime-covered windows. Spring mattress. Ugly. Dirty. His. 

When he opened the door to his apartment he almost fell over in surprise because there was Megatron, sitting casually on his couch. After he’d recovered, he said, “Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, obviously. How did that go?”

“They fired me, obviously. How did you get in?”

“I picked your lock. Obviously. I can’t believe you still have a manual lock on your door.” 

“I can’t believe you know how to pick manual locks.”

“Terminus taught me,” Megatron said lightly. “Most of the buildings in the Rust Valley are old enough to have manual locks.” He stood up and slung a backpack off his shoulder. “Now that you’re here, and you’re not a cop anymore, I have plans. I have  _ ideas _ .”

A few moments later the two of them were sat on opposite sides of Orion’s kitchen table with a seemingly endless amount of documents spread out across it. There were notepads, address books, employee records from various companies, what seemed to be betting records from something called “The Victory Pit”, printed out news articles, prescriptions, and maps of a million different places around the city. 

“What Kickswitch said was right,” Megatron began, pushing an address book to the center of the table. “We need a forger. And we need more than just a forger. We need a hacker who isn’t a pain in the ass to work with, though I’ll admit those are hard to find. We need a weapons expert, a propagandist, a doctor, a getaway driver, a spymaster. We need muscle. We need hustle. We need inside contacts in the police force, Thyranotos, Militech, InfoComp, Trauma Team, the City Council, and every major crime syndicate in the city.”

“That’s a laundry list of people we need,” Orion remarked. “Do you know where to start?”

Megatron looked up at Orion, his face bursting into a wild grin. “No idea.”

Orion couldn’t help but smile back. “I think I have an idea. I’ve got a friend who’s recently out of work, and I think he’d be in. He’s recovering from a leg injury at the moment, but he’s on the up and up.”

“Perfect.” 

They ended up planning late into the afternoon and evening, bouncing ideas back and forth off of one another. It turned out that Megatron was a wealth of them, but more surprisingly, so was Orion. “I think the police could work in our favor,” he posited.

“In what way?”

“Well, like you said, the police don’t do much about the gangs. But they are more likely to go after violent criminals than property criminals. And stealing from gangs is likely to provoke violent retaliation, right? That’s one of your worries. When it was just you, they were fine to leave you alone, but a group is more of a threat. What I’m saying is we should try and make that retaliation be as public as possible, so that the police are more likely to intervene, and intervene against them rather than us.” 

Megatron tapped his chin. “Aren’t you worried about civilians getting hurt?”

“I—of course. That’s something we’ll have to consider.”

“Civilians are always a consideration.” He circled Paksa-Grazie on a map of the city. “And the people living here are the most vulnerable.” He circled the Rust Valley. “And here.” He circled Tarn. “And here.” He circled Lower Iacon. “And even here. We have to be mindful of the most vulnerable populations in this city, because this revolution will require sacrifices, and they will most likely have to make them disproportionately.”

“And we don’t want that,” Orion said.

“We don’t,” Megatron agreed. “The sooner we can move our base out of poor, residential areas the better. Petrex, possibly, Downtown or even Asklepios, ideally.” Then he looked up at the clock across from the kitchen table. “Christ. Didn’t realize it got so late. Can I crash here?”

“Can you—can you  _ what? _ ”

“I mean if you don’t want me to, I’ll leave, but I’d really rather not have to make the drive back to West James at this hour.”

“No, I just—I can’t imagine anyone wanting to crash here. It’s kind of gross.”

“Orion, you’ve seen my place. At least this is somewhere meant to be lived in. Can I take the couch?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeahsuredefinitely. It hasn’t really been used in a hot minute, but knock yourself out.”

Megatron stood up. “Thanks. I will.” 

“I’d offer you the bed, but um. You know.”

“Right, right, totally get it. Your place, your bed. No problem. I’ll be on the couch. How about we start scouting for a base tomorrow, and then call that friend of yours?”

“Sounds like a plan. G’night.”

“Night.” 

Sitting on his bed in the dark of his bedroom, Orion took a moment to think about how weird this was. How often did adults platonically sleep over at each other’s houses? If he, Shockwave, and Megatron were the metric anyone was going by, pretty often, it would seem. He was still lost in thought when his phone rang.

“Prowl?” It had been a bit since he’d spoken to Prowl.

“Orion,” Prowl said on the other end. “Heard you made an interesting life decision today.”

“I got fired. I wouldn’t call that a decision.”

“You told Chief the truth. That was a decision. Springarm called. He hoped I could convince you to go back, but I’m not really interested in doing that. But I do have to admit I’m curious. I knew you were lying to me from the get-go, of course. You’re not a very good liar. But I was wondering the whole time why you were lying to me. I thought,  _ What is so special about this Megatron character that Orion, a) didn’t bring him in, and b) lied about it?  _ And I still don’t have an answer for those questions, nor do I understand why you’re telling the truth now. So I thought I’d ask.” 

“The world is very different from how I perceived it growing up,” Orion answered. “I don’t have much more of an answer than that.”

“Is this about Shockwave? I heard about their disappearance. I know you two were close.”

“It is about them, yes. But I think I would have quit the force eventually even if they were still around. I think my conscience would have demanded it.” There was something cathartic about telling the truth after all his time playing games of deception, though he wasn’t sure why he was telling it to Prowl of all people. Maybe Prowl had just caught him at the right time, with Megatron in the next room, sandwiched between the horror of the past and his undeniable, If unrealistic optimism for the future. 

“You say your conscience would have demanded you quit the force,” Prowl said. “Why? Do you think being a police officer cost you your morals?”

_ Yes. No. Sort of. Not sure.  _ He didn’t know the answer to this question, so instead he asked another, “Does it matter?”

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.” And then Prowl hung up. Prowl was nigh impossible for Orion to fathom. He was a pragmatist, an intellectual, and a fierce determinator, but to what ends? Orion had never known his friend to have many personal goals, even when they were young and at the police academy together. He didn’t crave wealth or power. Orion supposed he wanted to do the right thing, but these days, what that was was getting harder and harder to discern. 

_ Maybe Prowl could be our police contact. It would take some convincing, years and years of it, but he might see our side.  _

But that was a discussion for the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find Prowl uhhhHHHH really difficult to write for some reason. So! This is the last you'll be seeing of him.


	12. A Chemical Change of the Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter (and the next) comes from the song Nightlight by Silversun Pickups. Stream Widow's Weeds on Spotify now. 
> 
> Also: this chapter introduces the first OC who'll stick around for longer than a couple chapters. I hope you like him! I do.

“I’m still staying at Shockwave’s apartment, but it feels weird without them here,” Roller explained over the phone. “I mean they own the place, and I have a key, and the will doesn’t take effect until they’re legally declared dead. Though I’ll probably move back in with Springarm after my leg’s completely healed.”

“Who’s the apartment willed to?” Orion asked. He was pacing around his living room and kitchen, while Megatron sat on the couch sorting through documents. Every so often he’d murmur, “No,” or, “A distinct possibility,” or, “That could work.” 

“I don’t know,” Roller replied. “They don’t have any children, obviously, and I don’t think they have any siblings or anything like that. And their parents are dead. For all intents and purposes, I’m their next of kin. I know they were planning on putting me in the will, but I don’t think they ever got around to it. So the apartment will probably be reclaimed by the Housing Authority.”

“That sucks. It’s such a nice place.”

“It is,” Roller said mournfully. 

“I’m looking for a new place myself. And I was hoping you’d help.”

“Sure. I’m walking around without crutches now, and I’m pretty sick of being inside all day. What do you need?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d meet a friend of mine. The new place is connected to this new job I’ve picked up—“

“Yeah, Springarm told me you’d quit. Or that you were fired, but that you provoked Chief into firing you. He asked me to talk some sense into you, but I said no. I said that it was your decision and all that.”

“I appreciate that. I love Springarm with my whole heart, but,” Orion trailed off.

“Stubborn,” Roller finished. “Him and Wheelarch both. I understand why you quit. After everything that’s happened, how do you just keep living your life the same way?”

“For some people, it’s all they can do. But about this job. It’ll be pretty different, I think, from what we were doing before. But I’ve met this guy, and he’s got a plan of action.” Megatron looked up at Orion and smiled at him. Orion smiled back. “Can you make it to my apartment in forty-five?”

“Can do, Big Guy. I’ll see you in a few.”

“And you think he’ll be in?” Megatron asked after Orion had hung up. 

“I’m almost certain.” 

In the hours between dawn and the phone call with Roller, Megatron and Orion had been planning. They needed another heist. A dry run, really, for everything else they’d do from then on out, to secure some collateral and make it known that they were serious. They needed something they use to backup their claims when new prospective recruits asked, “What have you guys done? Will you be effectual? Do you have what it takes to pull this off?” 

Megatron had had the Militech warehouse under the Lower Iacon overpass picked out for months. He’d been doing reconnaissance there when Orion caught him, just a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, since the break-in, they’d beefed up security. 

“They have security cameras now. And a few guards. The guards also have dogs,” Megatron had explained. “They don’t keep guns there, but they keep materials for guns. Scrap metal, gunpowder, bullet casings, upgrades, even some explosives, though not many. If we can collect some of that, we’ll have some resources. We don’t need to use them, necessarily; I don’t think we’ll need large weapons stockpiles until much later, but we can sell them. And moreover, we can point to them and say, ‘We stole from Militech successfully. These corporations aren’t invulnerable.’”

When Roller arrived, he looked haggard. His previously short-cropped dark hair had grown longer, and clearly hadn’t been washed in a few days, and he walked with a pronounced limp. When he saw Orion, he fell on him, and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Christ. Everything sucks,” he muttered into Orion’s shoulder. 

“I know, old friend. But we can make things better.”

Roller looked up and noticed Megatron for the first time. “Who’s this?” 

“This is Megatron,” Orion introduced him, stepping back. 

“The Myriad guy? This is him?” Roller laughed. In spite of everything, it was a comforting sound. “Springarm told me you told Chief you weren’t screwing him, but Springarm didn’t tell me he was so attra—“

“I’m  _ not _ screwing him, Roller, oh my God.”

Megatron cleared his throat. “ _ He _ is in the same room as you. Please don’t objectify me. I take it you’re Roller?”

Orion reached out and put a hand on Roller’s shoulder. “He’s  _ ex _ -Myriad, Roller. And I’m going to tell Springarm everything you just said.”

“You will not.”

“I won’t, but I’ll think about it, especially if you don’t listen to what we have to say. I didn’t quit the force just for funsies, I quit because Megatron showed me that there was something else that could be done about the state of this city. So that companies like Thyranotos can’t do whatever they want. Can’t hurt people like Spectrum and Shockwave and anyone else they had in there anymore.”

“Shockwave called them the DNAgents,” Roller said softly. 

Megatron’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

“They didn’t stay with us long, not even overnight, the apartment was too small and there were four of them, but. Some of Thyranotos’ subjects stayed with us. The older ones. The younger ones got put in foster care almost immediately, but those who were eighteen or older had nowhere to go,” Roller explained. “Shockwave organized a place for them to stay. Not sure where. They told me not to tell anyone, but I thought you should know. They had special abilities, like superheroes. It was incredible to see.”

Megatron turned and looked at Orion, opportunity glinting in his eyes. “We have to find them.”

Orion’s brow furrowed. “I don’t want to put them in danger. I’m sure they’ve been through a lot.” 

“What were their names?” Megatron asked, ignoring Orion. 

“They explained it all to me. They—most of them didn’t have names, just patient designations. Damus was the only exception. His mother, he’d known his mother briefly, and she’d named him. But everyone called him Glitch. They all had nicknames for each other, mostly based on their powers. The other three I met were Skids, Windcharger, and Trailbreaker.” Roller smiled sadly. “They were nice. In spite of everything, somehow, they were nice. Lively, even. Like they hadn’t been trapped in hell their entire lives. There was this comradery between them, and Shockers nicknamed them the DNAgents. They liked that. They liked  _ them _ .”

Shockwave’s last words to Orion rang through his ears.  _ Remember me as I was _ . Even now, after the calls and the heist and leaving the force, it was still almost impossible to believe that they were gone. “We broke into Thyranotos,” he finally said after a long pause. 

“You what?” Now it was Roller’s turn to act surprised. “When? Why?  _ How? _ ”

“Two days ago. To find Shockwave. We had help from a hacker Megatron knew,” Orion answered. “We didn’t find them. I think they’re in there, somewhere, but wherever they’re being kept isn’t on the maps, and it’ll take a long time to find it, a longer time to figure out how to break in, and an even longer time to figure out how to get Shockwave and break out.” 

Roller hugged him again. Orion wasn’t exactly small, but sometimes he forgot how much Roller towered over him, over most people. “So what’s the plan, Big Guy?” Roller said. 

Orion smiled. “I’m glad you asked.” 

The plan was this: simple, straightforward, get in, get out, be done with it. There were cameras, but they were simple, attached to one power box outside the building. Cutting their power should turn them off, without the need for hacking. Under the cover of darkness, the three of them would cut a hole in the fence and sneak in. One person, probably Megatron, would stun the guard, and then the three of them would climb up a ladder on the side of the building and get in through the trap door. 

“It’s the out part that’s hardest,” Megatron finished. “Because we can’t get out the same way we came in. We can open the door from the inside, but it’ll alert the guards. At this point I’m thinking it’s easiest to just make a break for it. But if we do that, we’ll need to be out of there fast.”

Roller leaned back on the couch and looked at Orion. “So, let me get this straight. You’re a cop for nearly a decade. You dedicate your life to the force, forgoing a lot of personal happiness in the process, and then one day, you just go, ‘Fuck it. I’m gonna do crime now.’”

“It’s a revolution, Roller,” Orion said. “We told you. This is a means to an end.” 

“I know. Just thought I’d check.”

“Are you in?” Megatron asked. “It’s a three man heist.”

Roller burst into a grin. “Fuck yeah I’m in. Let’s get crazy.”

Megatron looked back over the plans. “Y’know just now? I lied. It’s not a three man heist. It’s a four man heist. We need to get out of there as fast as possible, and for that we need a getaway driver.” 

“Do you know any of those?” Roller asked. “‘Cause I don’t.”

“I do,” Megatron answered. “He’d be in, I’m sure of it, though we’d probably have to pay him. And he doesn’t come cheap. He’s all wrapped up in Myriad business, and prying him out of that mess won’t be easy.”

“Is it worth it?” Orion asked.

“He’s the best getaway driver in the city. So yes.” 

Crash of Lower Iacon didn’t have a permanent address. According to Megatron, he couch surfed around Lower Iacon and occasionally Paksa-Grazie, taking places to stay as favors from those he drove. Sometimes he slept in his car. Rumor had it he frequented the Myriad dive bar the Pinhook on Sixth Street, though, so they sought him out there. 

“Why is he named Crash if he’s a getaway driver?” Roller wondered aloud as he pushed open the door. “It’s worrying.”

“Irony,” Megatron answered. “He drives at top speeds but has never once crashed. So: Crash.”

Orion looked around the bar. It was, well, a bar. Dark, low ceiling, crowded with scowling faces. An older woman with shaggy gray hair tended the bar. She looked up at them as they came in, gave them a tired smile, then went back to what she was doing. 

Orion leaned in close to Megatron’s ear. Megatron had pulled his hood down to cover his face; he wasn’t exactly welcome in Myriad territory these days. “D’you see him?” Orion asked. 

“Not yet. Keep an eye out for a blond kid with freckles and goggles. He’s pretty loud, too.”

The three of them spread out amongst the patrons. None of them looked like Megatron had described. They were all older and more grizzled than Crash was said to be, and many of them gave dirty looks to Orion and Roller’s unfamiliar faces. Orion hoped that they wouldn’t get pegged at cops. “Fresh-faced and stupid,” Megatron had said of Crash. Nobody here looked stupid, and they certainly weren’t fresh-faced. 

At that moment, however, the door to the bar slammed open, and a loud voice came shouting through, “Kup, you old bitch, how you been?”

The woman behind the bar looked up and grinned wildly. “Crash, you stupid little punk, get your ass over here before I smack the shit outta you. You had me worried sick.”

“Aw, you know me, Kup, I’m always okay.” Crash strode across the bar floor and slid down onto a stool. He was exactly as Megatron had described him: all youthful features and sparkling eyes that he hid behind a pair of enormous goggles. 

“Well that was easy,” Roller muttered to himself. 

Before Orion and Roller knew it, Megatron had sidled up to Crash, and he motioned for them to join him. “‘Sup, Crash,” Megatron said as they approached. 

Crash looked over at him. “Megatron? You got balls coming here.”

“Pssh. I’m fine.”

Hearing Megatron’s name, Kup the bartender looked over. Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t say anything. 

“We need you for a job,” Megatron continued.

Kup slid a drink across the bar to Crash, then she started wiping down the bar, pretending to ignore them. Orion could see her watching them out of the corner of her eye.

“‘Course you do,” Crash responded. “It’ll cost you, though. Especially since you’re not Myriad anymore, it’s risky for me to take a job with you.”

Megatron nodded. “I understand completely. Crash, these are my friends, Roller and Orion Pax. They’re on the heist with me. It’s a small heist, simple, should be in and out. But we’ll need to get out of there quick, so we need a getaway driver. And you’re the best there is.”

“Damn right,” Crash agreed. “How much is there on the table?”

“Four hundred shanix,” Megatron said. “Plus a cut of whatever we pull out of there, if you want it.” 

_ Four hundred? Getaway drivers didn’t come cheap these days.  _

“Five hundred,” Crash countered.  _ Jesus.  _

“Four-fifty, no higher,” Megatron said. “It’s a simple job. No gangs, no cops, just the four of us and a warehouse under the overpass.”

“Fine. Four-fifty. But I want it all up front.”

“That won’t be an issue.”

Orion tugged on Megatron’s sleeve and whispered, “Do we have 450 shanix? I mean I don’t.”

“Of course I do. What do you think I was stealing from the Myriad? Oxygen?” Megatron turned back to Crash. “Meet us on West James tomorrow at ten am and we’ll brief you. Heist’ll be at midnight.”

“Ten am?” Crash let out a long exhale. “Do we have to meet that early?”

“Fine. How’s noon?”

Crash downed the last of his drink then stood up to leave. “One pm. No earlier.” 

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Don’t be late, though,” he called after Crash as he walked away. Megatron estured to Orion and Roller. “Let’s go.” 

But before Megatron could stand up to go, a hand clamped down on top of his with an iron grasp. It was Kup. “Don’t you dare let anything happen to him,” she said, leaning in close. 

“He’s in no more danger with me than on any of his other jobs,” Megatron told her, trying to pull away. 

But Kup didn’t let go. “Yeah, he is. Galvatron is on your ass, Megs, and the whole city knows it. You picked him for your little job ‘cause he’s too stupid to know better than to work with you.”

“It’s a simple job, Kup. We’ll be in and out, and then we’ll be out of his hair.”

“You’d better be.” 

True to his word, Crash met them at one pm sharp the next day. In the light of the afternoon, he was even smaller than he’d appeared in the bar. He barely came up to Orion’s shoulder, and Roller towered over him. “‘Sup,” Crash said. He was holding a milkshake. “So, what’s the deal here? You starting your own gang now that Galvatron’s kicked you out?”

“He didn’t kick me out, I left,” Megatron said irritably. 

Crash interrupted a long slurp of his milkshake to laugh. “You’d have to be stupid to leave the Myriad. But then again, you’d have to be stupid to get yourself kicked out for stealing. Looks like you’re stupid either way, Megs.”

“It’s a revolution,” Orion told Crash calmly before Megatron could say anything. “We’re not interested in fighting other gangs, only the system that necessitates their existence.”

Crash looked unimpressed. “Sure. Whatever. What’s the plan?” 

Megatron explained it to him, his annoyance at the kid settling down as he went and being replaced with enthusiasm. “And there we have it,” he said when he finished. “Neat and tidy. Any questions?”

“Will you be providing the getaway vehicle? If you’re stealing big stuff it looks like you’ll need something bigger to keep it all in. And I don’t have a truck.”

Orion looked at Megatron with some amount of panic rising up in him. He hadn’t thought about that. Luckily, Megatron had.

“I parked it down the block,” he told Crash. “It’s clunky, but it’ll do the job. That is, if it’s got a good enough driver.” Megatron’s eyes shone, and Orion recognized that shine. He’d seen it in Shockwave’s gaze during the Council meeting. “Do you need to see it?”

Crash had taken the bait. “Nah. Just park it ‘round front of the Pinhook. See you tonight.”

“Do you really have a car parked around the block?” Orion asked after Crash had left. 

“Yep. But it’s a real piece of shit,” Megatron replied. “It’s hard to get a good truck cheap, especially on such short notice. Crash won’t be happy, but he’ll deal. I meant what I said, y’know. It’s not the car that matters. It’s who drives it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Die Happy Kup is a gilf. The bar she tends, the Pinhook, is named after a very cool bar in my hometown. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you understand why I needed an OC for my getaway driver. The only canon character who could be conceivably construed as one is, unfortunately, The Worst. Fuck Getaway lives he doesn't get to be in this fic.


	13. The Tangles of Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heist time! This is one of my favorite chapters, and it contains the scene I started writing the fic because of. Also, sorry about my lack of weapons knowledge. I learned everything I know now from video games. 
> 
> This is also the first chapter with violence in it as well. It contains mild injury, a fair amount of blood, threats, and animal death.

Crash, of course, complained about the car. “It’s a bucket of rust!” he shouted upon seeing it. “It looks like it barely drives!”

“But it drives,” Megatron pointed out. 

“The seatbelts don’t even click in all the way! If we crash we’re fucked!”

“Then don’t crash, Crash.” 

Crash’s shouts had eventually settled into mild grumbling by the time he’d sat down behind the wheel of the car. Megatron sat next to him, while Roller and Orion climbed in the back. Orion had never ridden in the back of a pickup truck before, but it felt nice, the cool night air on his face. The city felt less wild at night than during the day, even though he knew that that could not be further from the truth. Especially on this stretch of highway, with the stream of cars having dwindled from a gushing river to a trickle, all that was ugly and savage about the city felt far away. He turned over the knife he’d brought with him in his hands.

“Just in case,” Megatron had said. “You shouldn’t need it, but just in case.” 

Crash parked a block away from the warehouse. “Call me when you need me. I’ll pull up out front for you.” 

The first step was cutting power to the security cameras. It proved to be a simple affair. There was a power box just outside the perimeter, and Megatron cracked its lock with ease. He traced the wires with his index finger, connecting the fuses to their outputs. “Here,” he finally said. “These are the wires that power the cameras. If we cut these, we can turn off the cameras without cutting the rest of the power and alerting the guards. Roller, wire cutters please.”

Roller handed them to him. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

“I used to do some freelance electrician work before I was in the Myriad. Just for some extra cash. You know how it is.”

“You’re a man of many talents,” Roller noted.

“Tell me about it,” Orion agreed.

Megatron grinned at the compliment, but didn’t say anything. “Done,” he finally said. 

Peering over the fence, the red light on the security camera that had been staring in their direction had gone off. 

Next was the risky part. Orion had no earthly idea where Megatron got a syringe of general anaesthetic, but he wasn’t going to question his friend’s methods. They were just north of where the guard was standing, his tired eyes staring straight ahead. In a bold move, Megatron stood up, and walked confidently up to the guard until he was standing right next to him. It paid off. The guard didn’t notice. He didn’t notice, that is, until Megatron had whipped out the syringe and said, “Hey,” in that powerful voice of his. 

The guard must’ve jumped out of his skin. But it didn’t matter, because before he could say or do anything, the syringe was in his neck and he’d collapsed onto the ground. 

“That was kind of disturbing,” Roller murmured in Orion’s ear. 

“Among other things,” Orion noted. 

Roller gave him a strange look. “What?”

“What?”

But then Megatron was motioning for them to follow him up the ladder, so they followed. Orion had been on roofs before, but this felt different, somehow. Maybe it was the nighttime atmosphere, maybe it was the fingernail moon overhead, or maybe it was the exhilaration of doing something wrong, and yet for maybe the first time in his life, doing something he knew was right. Megatron popped open the trap door, and then dropped in, landing on the concrete floor of the warehouse with catlike grace. Orion and Roller followed him down, landing a little more roughly. 

The contents of the warehouse were sparser than Orion had expected, but there was still plenty to be had. 

“Look for boxes of scrap,” Megatron instructed. “Anything that can be repurposed. And look for stuff that looks expensive, or hard to make, or stuff that there isn’t a lot of here. Even if we don’t use it, we can make sure Militech doesn’t have it, which is half the battle.” 

“I’ve got a box of C4 here,” Roller announced after a little while. 

“Be careful with that,” Megatron said. “How much is there?”

“Just this one box.”

“Then take it.”

Orion found a box of gun stocks and dumped a different box of ammo into it. He stuffed bits of scrap wood, metal, and nails into his messenger bag, feeling its weight pull down on his shoulder. After about twenty minutes, Megatron called, “Do we feel like we have enough?”

“I do,” Roller said.

“Me too,” Orion agreed. 

“I’ve texted Crash. Get ready.” 

They gathered around the door, the button to open it glowing red in the darkness. “Go as soon as you can fit under the door. If the dogs come after you, don’t be afraid to kick them. I’m going for the control booth so I can open the gate for you. On my count.” Megatron held up three fingers. Then two. Then one. Then he slammed down the button with the edge of his closed fist. ‍The warehouse door hummed to life, groaning as it was pulled into the air. Orion gripped his box of gun stocks and ammo close to his chest.

“What the hell?” he heard someone outside say, the shadows of two figures, one bipedal, one quadrupedal, appearing under the door. 

And then he was running. His back foot pushed against the ground and he sprung into action, ducking under the door and bolting for the road. The gate sang open as he approached it, squealing as it pushed outwards. Through the opening, he could see the truck in the distance, Crash’s silhouette visible through the driver’s side window. 

“Hey!” he heard a guard call from behind him. “Stop right there!” A dog was barking too, its leash jangling. But Orion didn’t stop. He ran like he’d never ran before, his periphery blackening, tunnel vision focused on the truck in front of him. And then he was there. He’d made it. He dumped his box and bag into the truck bed and collapsed against the side of it. 

Crash rolled down the window. “Orion, where the fuck’s Megatron?”

_ Megatron?  _ He looked around. Roller was climbing into the passenger’s side of the truck, but Megatron was nowhere to be seen. 

Within a fraction of a second, Orion had turned on his heel and was sprinting back towards the warehouse. He heard the shouts of the guards, the barks and growls of the dogs, and Megatron, howling in pain and rage. When he caught sight of his friend, Megatron was on his back on the ground, a dog standing on his chest and snapping at his face with hungry jaws. Without thinking, Orion’s knife was in his hand, and then it was cutting into the dog’s throat, its barking cutting off abruptly. 

Megatron pushed the dog’s corpse off of him and stood up, pulling a gun out from his bag and pointing it at the guards. “Let us go!” he roared.  _ He brought a gun?  _

Orion slung Megatron’s arm over his shoulder, propping him up against his side. “Let’s go,” he hissed. 

They went as fast as they could, bolting across the street and vaulting into the truck bed. “Go! Fucking go!” Megatron shouted at Crash, banging on the back window. 

Orion slumped down in the truck bed and covered his face with his arm. “You brought a gun?” he finally said into his elbow. 

“Just a precaution. And it looks like I needed it. Just like you needed that knife. I can’t believe you slit a dog’s throat.” 

“It was attacking you,” Orion told him simply. Then they fell silent. Orion lay all the way down and closed his eyes. His throat was dry and his heart was racing at a million miles an hour. The truck was going fast, too, racing at an unexpected speed for such a hunk of junk. 

“Nobody’s on us,” Crash called from the front seat after a little while. “I’m dropping you off at West James.”

Orion stuck his thumb up from his position on the truck bed. He opened his eyes and stared straight up at the night sky. There wasn’t much to be seen with all the light pollution, except the moon and a smattering of dim stars. But it was beautiful, somehow. So dark, dark enough that Orion could breathe easy. Breathe easy for the first time in—he didn’t know how long. 

Orion hopped back over the truck bed onto the dank little alley that was West James “Street” and walked over towards the door to 113. He looked over at Megatron, who had also exited the vehicle, and gasped. His face was absolutely covered in blood. 

“Fucking shit, Megatron!” he exclaimed. 

“What.” 

“You’re bleeding all over the place!”

Megatron reached up and touched his face. His fingers came away stained with red. “Oh. I guess I am.” And then he smiled. And then he started to laugh. Wild, manic, genuine laughter than burst up from his diaphragm and bubbled out of his blood-covered lips. And then he ran over to Orion and, still laughing, scooped him up in an enormous hug so that Orion’s feet lifted off of the ground and his rib cage protested under the pressure of Megatron’s arms.

Orion couldn’t help it. He started laughing too. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he managed to choke out. “You’re injured. You’re getting blood all over me.”

“We’ll live,” Megatron said, setting Orion down. 

Orion reached up and took Megatron’s face in his hands, blood running through his fingers. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

Megatron shook his head. “I’m not Trauma Team. And since you’re not a cop anymore, neither are you. We can’t afford it.” And then he burst into laughter again. 

“I know a place,” Orion told him. He knocked on the window of the truck. “Crash. Do you know the Dead End clinic?”

Crash did know the Dead End clinic, as it turned out, but Megatron didn’t. “Why haven’t I heard of this place?” Megatron asked on the ride over, a blood-soaked rag pressed to his face. 

“Guess you’ve never needed to know,” Orion suggested. “The Myriad has its own doctors, doesn’t it?”

“We—they do.” 

The Dead End was almost exactly what it said on the tin: a mini-district that sat on the line between Lower Iacon and Paksa-Grazie where people went when they had nowhere else to go. It was darker here than in the rest of the city. Darker, and emptier. Emptier except for the shades, those driven to the Dead End, the facsimiles of people that haunted the alleys and looked out at them with glowing eyes. Helping Megatron out of the back of the truck, Orion got an up close look at his injuries with some of the blood wiped away. There were three long, jagged slashes running diagonally down his face, bisecting both of his eyebrows and one of his eyes. He was lucky his eye hadn’t been put out. 

The inside of the clinic was cramped, but clean. A little bell above the door rang as they went in.

“In a minute!” Ratchet’s voice called from the back. If the empty front room was any indication, she was the only one working right now. It was a common occurrence. A moment later, she stepped out of the back room, dark circles surrounding her eyes and a headband pushing back her thick curls. She took one look at Megatron and said, “Jesus Christ, Orion,” in a deadpan voice. 

There was one other patient in the back. She was young, a young woman with tired eyes in a purple tank top. She was asleep. Ratchet ignored her, and motioned for Megatron to sit on the examining table. 

“What caused this?” she asked. 

“Dogs,” Megatron answered.

Ratchet gave a loud, rattling sigh. “This is twice in as many months you’ve brought someone to my doorstep all beat to shit, Orion. What kind of trouble are you getting into these days?” 

“Oh, you know,” Orion replied, looking up at the ceiling. “This and that.”

“That’s not an answer, but I’m going to let it go because there’s an injured man in front of me.” She turned back to Megatron. “These are jagged, and not that deep, so they should heal more quickly. However, they will leave scars.”

“Badass,” Megatron said. 

“And I’ll need to give you stitches.”

“Like, right now?”

“No, I need you to come in next week—yes right now! Sit still. I need to get my suture.” Ratchet sighed as she began to sew Megatron’s skin back together. “At least he’s faring better than the last one you brought me.” 

“What happened to them, by the way? I never asked.”

“You never do,” Ratchet noted. “They’re fine. I helped them detox and set their broken ribs. I referred them to an employment hub, but I don’t know if they went.”

“What was their name?”

“Drift. Is that fitting or ironic?”

“Fitting, I think,” Megatron said. “It’s not irony. That’s not what irony means.”

“And you’re an expert on literary devices?” Ratchet said skeptically. 

“Well, not an expert, but I used to write poetry.”

Ratchet and Orion both stared at him incredulously. “Poetry?” Orion said.

“Don’t look so surprised. I’m a jack of all trades and a master of every single one.” 

“Sit still,” Ratchet ordered, going back to her stitching. “You’ll get a blood infection.”

“It’s not my fault you two haven’t heard of a poet-gangster-thief-electrician-gladiator-street rat-revolutionary seven-hit combo before,” Megatron retorted. 

“Stop  _ talking _ ,” Ratchet ordered, her voice edging into exasperation. “And if you must talk, be quieter. You’ll wake Slipstream.” 

_ Gladiator?  _ Orion decided not to ask about it. That was a conversation for later. 

After about half an hour, Ratchet was finished. “Come back in three weeks or go to the hospital to get those stitches out,” she instructed Megatron. “And don’t do anything crazy until then.” 

Megatron looked down at her hands. “What are those?”

She looked down, then she held out her hands, palms first. “My hands?”

“No, on the backs of them. The metal.”

Orion peered around Ratchet to see what Megatron was looking at. He’d missed them coming in, and if they had been there when he’d brought Drift by, he’d missed them then, too, but there were metal attachments on the backs of her hands. Flat wires that connected little circles on each of her knuckles. 

“Oh, they’re, um.”  _ Is Ratchet embarrassed? Or afraid?  _ Orion had never seen her be either. “They’re cybernetics. New technology. There’s this company that started up just a few months ago, Raven Microcybernetics, and they found out about the clinic. They offered to help fund it if I helped them test their technology. And also pay for my hormones. That stuff isn’t cheap on my hospital salary, you know. Anyway. The technology’s all very, I dunno, state-of-the-art isn’t the right turn of phrase. But it’s new. Very new. They think it’ll change the world. And it might. My upgrades do me just fine. They wanted me to offer them to patients, but I couldn’t ethically do that, so I agreed to have them installed myself. They make my hands steadier, make my movements more fine-tuned. It helps. I like them. They make things easier.”

Orion’s mind flickered briefly back to Soundwave and the implants in her ears. Was this what those had been? 

“Can I see?” Megatron asked. Ratchet wordlessly held out a hand for Megatron to inspect. He turned it over, letting the fluorescent light reflect over it. “Fascinating,” he murmured. 

“I need you to see yourselves out,” Ratchet said awkwardly. “I need to make sure Slipstream isn’t in a coma.”

“Right,” Megatron said, letting go of her hand. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

Ratchet shook her head. “I don’t know where you keep finding these people, Pax.”

“Kind of a funny story, there,” Orion told her. “But a story for another day.” And then they walked out of the back room. Orion tugged on Megatron’s sleeve. “Poetry, huh?”

“Yeah. I still have some. I’ll have to read it to you sometime.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

Roller and Crash were waiting in the lobby. “Can I sleep at your place?” Crash asked Megatron.

“I don’t have anywhere for you. Sorry,” Megatron said. “113 West James is a one-bed wonder.”

“I’ve got a couch,” Orion offered. 

“Awesome,” Crash said, clapping Orion on the shoulder. “Let’s get going. We’ll drop Megs and Roller off, and then I’ll come with you to your place.” 

“Wait,” Megatron said, extending his arms and taking hold of Roller and Orion’s hands. His hands were rough and calloused, but warm. He smiled at the three of them. “We did it. We pulled off this heist. With only minor gruesome injuries!” 

“Is this common practice in the Myriad?” Roller asked. “Holding hands to celebrate a job well done?” But he was smiling too.

Crash grinned. “Not in my experience with them. I think this is a Megatron thing.” 

“Here’s to more successful heists,” Orion said.

“And a successful revolution,” Megatron added.

“Here, here,” Roller said.

Crash sleeping on Orion’s couch wasn’t as weird as Megatron sleeping on his couch for some reason. It felt like Orion’s kid brother was staying over. Not that Orion had a kid brother to compare the experience to. In spite of everything, his job, Springarm and Wheelarch and Prowl and everyone he’d left behind when he’d quit, in spite of Spectrum and Shockwave and Thyranotos, in spite of the heist and Megatron’s injury, he fell asleep happy. Comfortable and happy in his own bed.

He woke up to someone shaking him awake. The last time this had happened it was—“Shockwave?” he groaned, rolling over and rubbing one eye. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Crash, remember?” the person standing over him said. “Who’s—never mind. You’ve gotta see this.”

Everything came rushing back all at once, and he sat up in bed. “Crash. Right. What is it?”

“It’s the news. It just broke early this morning. Get up.”

Orion obeyed, a strange haze hanging over him. In the living room, his TV was on. He barely used his TV. “—Early this morning, his body was found, shot dead in his apartment,” the reporter was saying. “According to his neighbors, no gunshots were heard. As a result of this shocking and tragic news, Councilor Proteus, in conjunction with Chief of Security at City Hall, Sentinel, has made an executive decision to temporarily suspend all meetings of the City Council. Here is his statement:”

Then Proteus appeared on screen. Orion shuddered involuntarily. “Between the disappearance of Councilor Shockwave and the horrifying assassination of Councilor Dai Atlas, I believe that it is best to—“

But Orion wasn’t listening anymore. Dai Atlas was dead, and any morality that the Council possessed had died with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet is a girl because, if you didn't know, his character was initially conceived as a woman way back in the 80's before Hasbro vetoed it. I'm paying homage to that fact. Her human form looks like tumblr user iccara's gijinka of her.


	14. Sketch the Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is...a little different. It's from the perspective of Sketch, the second major OC. It is, however, the only chapter from her, or any OC's perspective. Nevertheless I hope you like her! This chapter also features a couple familiar (if not necessarily welcome) faces :3

SIX MONTHS LATER

 

Sketch of the Rust Valley stood in an alley in Lower Iacon, just as she had so many times before. She’d taped her initial mock-up of the piece to the brick wall. ART WAKES UP SLEEPERS, it read in colorful bubble font. Butterflies soared up from the letters and grass grew between them. She’d sprayed the outlines of the letters already. Now it was time for the fun part. She uncapped her bottle of pink spray paint and began to fill in the letters, one joyous swipe at a time. She breathed in the scent of the paint, luxuriated in it as it mingled with the smell of gas and sweat that permeated the rest of Lower Iacon. She’d been wanting to throw this one up for a hot while now, and finally, finally, she’d been left alone long enough to do so.

“Sketch!” a voice called from behind her.  _ Or not.  _ “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Sketch didn’t deign to turn around. She knew who it was. “The answer is no, Swindle.” 

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. You’re under contract.”

Sketch added another streak of hot pink to the ‘A’ in ‘WAKES.’ “Correction,” she said, “I  _ was  _ under contract. Until you decided not to pay me.” 

“Then I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.”

Sketch sighed, and finally turned around. She should’ve figured that Swindle wasn’t dumb enough to come alone. Behind the short, greasy man was a tall woman, lean and muscular. She was attractive, in an intimidating way, but that wasn’t what stuck out about her. It was her eye. One eye was normal, but the other seemed to have circuits running through it. It was mechanical. Sketch had never seen anything like it before. 

“We’re not friends,” the woman said, referring to Swindle. “Galvatron needs your skills.”

“Does Galvatron know that the last time he needed my ‘skills’ I didn’t get paid?” Sketch directed the question at Swindle. She didn’t know enough about this other woman to engage with her.

“Of course,” Swindle replied. “He was the one who told me not to pay you. At my protestations, mind you. I personally believe in fair pay for fair labor, but I can’t just ignore Galvatron’s orders.”

“Then he can’t expect me to work for him again. Tell him to find another forger.” Sketch crossed her arms in defiance. 

“But Sketch! Sketchy-Sketch, you’re it! You’re Sketch the Hand! There is no better forger than you!”

“Galvatron should’ve thought of that before he decided not to pay me. Now leave me alone. I’m working on something.” Sketch turned back around. 

“Shadowstriker?” Swindle said.

“It’s lovely,” the woman—Shadowstriker—said. Sketch wasn’t watching her, but she could hear the stomp of her boots on the pavement as she approached Sketch. “How long does it take to finish something like this?”

“This? A few hours, maybe.” 

“Mm,” Shadowstriker hummed. “I hope you get the chance to finish it.”

Sketch felt Shadowstriker’s hand clamp down on her shoulder. In a moment, Shadowstriker had thrust her forward, sending her crashing face-first into the wall. Pain radiated through Sketch’s face and head, and she gritted her teeth against the cold brick of the wall. Shadowstriker’s nails dug into the skin under Sketch’s collarbone. 

“We have some things that need forging,” Shadowstriker hissed into Sketch’s ear. “And you will forge them for us. Or you’ll never paint again.”

“Shove. Off,” Sketch growled back, hiding her fear behind bared teeth. 

“What’s going on here?” a new voice said, one Sketch didn’t recognize. She couldn’t see who’d arrived with her face pressed into the wall. 

“This doesn’t seem kosher,” another voice noted.  _ Two of them? Cops?  _ No. Cops didn’t come to this part of the city. And even if they did, they wouldn’t care enough to intervene. The second voice seemed vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. 

“Megatron?” Swindle said, then he burst into laughter. “Long time no see, old buddy! What’re you doing around here?”

_ Megatron?  _ Sketch remembered him, albeit vaguely, from her other brushes with the Myriad. What was he doing here? Hadn’t he gone and gotten himself on Galvatron’s shitlist?  _ And no one’s heard from him in months—  _

“We’re looking for her, actually,” the first voice said.  _ Is he referring to me or Shadowstriker?  _ Sketch couldn’t tell. 

“And who’s your handsome friend?” Swindle asked, ignoring the stranger’s statement. 

“Swindle, meet Orion,” Megatron said. “He’s my new partner in crime. And Orion, meet Swindle, the slimiest piece of shit outside of Paraíso. Careful, he’ll clip your toenails right off your feet and sell them back to you for fifty shanix a pop.” 

“Gross,” Orion said. 

“You flatter me, Megsy. But if you’re here for Sketch, you’re SOL. Galvatron wants her,” Swindle said.

_ Gross.  _

“Galvatron and I have had this conversation before,” Megatron stated calmly. “He can’t just lay claim to all the talent in Lower Iacon.”

Sketch felt Shadowstriker’s grip on her loosen. She was distracted by the conversation. Sketch knew opportunity when she saw it. She shifted her foot backwards, and then lifted it up and stomped down hard on Shadowstriker’s toe. In one fluid motion, Sketch had whirled around, sweeping her leg behind Shadowstriker’s calf and wrapping her arm around her waist, leveraging her shorter stature and thus, lower center of balance, against the much taller woman. Sketch threw Shadowstriker against the opposite wall of the alley, the other woman cracking her head against the brick and collapsing in a heap on the ground. 

“Don’t fuck with me!” Sketch shouted at her. Then she turned to Swindle. “And don’t you even  _ think  _ about threatening me again, you greasy little rat.” 

Swindle held up his hands in the universal gesture for  _ I surrender _ and backed slowly out of the alleyway.

Sketch pointed at Megatron. “Now what the hell do  _ you  _ want.” Megatron and his friend Orion were both large; Megatron was larger than Sketch remembered him being. His hair was longer, too. Orion was tall and broad-shouldered, though not as tall or broad-shouldered as Megatron, with dark skin and dreadlocks. 

Orion stepped forward before Megatron could speak. “We’re just here to talk. And to offer you a job, if you’ll take it. It would be a long term thing.”

“I don’t care. Will you pay me?”

“Of course,” Orion said, looking confused. “Why wouldn’t we? We even have housing, if you need it.”

“Up front. I want it all up front,” Sketch demanded. “And I want protection from Galvatron and his goons.” She nodded towards Shadowstriker’s crumpled form. 

“Done and done,” Orion said.

“But I don’t think you understand what we’re offering you, Sketch,” Megatron added. “You’re asking for your payment up front, but we want to pay you a salary.”

“A salary?” That confused her. Why were they acting like forging was a real job?

“We’ve got a good thing going,” Orion said. “It won’t be the work you’re use to. But it’s good work, in more than one sense of the word.”

Sketch folded her arms. “I’d like to see it,” she said. “But I intended to work on this piece today, and I will. If you could get Shadowstriker as far away from me as possible before she wakes up, that would be a great way to begin to achieve my goodwill.”

“You’re a graffiti artist,” Orion said.

“You noticed. How astute of you.” She turned back to the wall where the words “ART WAKES UP SLEEPERS” still sat, unfinished, uncolored, unwhole. She smiled at them. So much potential. She picked her spray can up off the ground and began to go to work again. 

“Art wakes up sleepers,” Megatron said. “Where’d you hear that? Or did you come up with it?”

“It’s from the ‘Why Cheap Art Manifesto,’” Sketch told him. “ _ People have been thinking too long that art is a privilege of the museums and rich, _ ” she recited, adding stroke after stroke of paint. “ _ Art is not business! It does not belong to banks and fancy investors. Art is food. You can’t eat it but it feeds you. Art has to be cheap and available to everybody. It needs to be everywhere because it is the inside of the world. Art soothes pain! Art wakes up sleepers! Art fights against war and stupidity! _ ” She was lost in the words now, the pink of the paint surrounding her. Her smile widened. “ _ Art sings hallelujah! Art is for kitchens! Art is like good bread! Art is like green trees! Art it like white clouds in the sky! Art is cheap! _ ” Finishing coloring in the last of the letters, she dropped her can and exclaimed, “ _ Hurrah! _ ” 

Orion elbowed Megatron in the side. “Now  _ that’s  _ poetry.” He turned back to Sketch. “I think you’ll fit in just fine with us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Why Cheap Art Manifesto" is by the Bread and Puppet Theater in Vermont, written in 1984. My mom has a poster of it hanging in her office. 
> 
> Sketch the Hand is partially named after Tess the Hand, a forger character from the very cool fantasy series Tremontaine


	15. The Cruelest Month

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

 

Orion opened his apartment door to a very enthusiastic Megatron standing there, waving his laptop around. “I’ve found it!” he exclaimed. “No more dingy apartments, no more basements, no more West James Street, and no more Crash sleeping on your couch!” Orion stood aside as Megatron bounded in the door, slammed his laptop down on the kitchen counter, and flipped it open. “It’s Downtown, 211 Monticello Avenue. The bottom used to be a deli, and then there’s two stories of apartment above it.” He pulled up a picture of it on the screen. It was a three-story brick building sandwiched in between two other three-story brick buildings. “Lucky’s Delicatessen” read the lettering on the front window. 

Just then, Crash walked out of the bathroom. He’d been sleeping on Orion’s couch on and off for the past three months. The kid didn’t have a house; what was Orion gonna do, kick him out? But maybe if they sprung for this place, Crash would have somewhere more permanent to live. 

“Oh hey Megatron,” Crash said. “What’re we looking at?” 

“A house,” Megatron announced proudly. “A perfect home base for us and our burgeoning organization.”

Crash peered over Megatron’s shoulder. “When do we see it?”

“I was thinking now.” 

“Like right now?” Orion asked.

“Like right now.” 

In half an hour, the three of them were parked downtown and standing in front of the former Lucky’s Delicatessen with the former owner of Lucky’s Delicatessen, a man named, well, Lucky. It was an unusually cold day in the city, and Orion zipped his jacket all the way up to his neck. 

“It’s been on the market for about forty eight hours,” Lucky explained. “I’m surprised it got a showing so fast. Nobody really lives Downtown these days.”

“Can we see inside?” Megatron asked.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” Lucky replied. 

The bottom floor was. Well. It was a deli. It had a counter and a kitchen in the back and booths bolted to the walls. 

“Chilly in here,” Crash noted.

“Yeah, there’s no heat. Don’t usually need it,” Lucky told him. 

“That won’t be a problem,” Megatron said, inspecting the counter. The sunlight was bright and beautiful as it flooded through the windows. It made the abandoned diner look almost picturesque. 

“What made you close up shop?” Orion asked, peering into the kitchen. It looked more like a restaurant kitchen than his kitchen in his apartment: all stainless steel and tile flooring. 

Lucky shrugged. “It was my mom’s place. She died, and I ran things for a little while, but. At some point you have to move on.”

Orion’s first instinct was to apologize, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “It’s lovely. Can we see upstairs?” 

The upstairs was equally nice. Lucky had kept things tidy. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom. Everything was spacious and had big windows, and all the walls were painted in a soft blue color, the kind of color one would paint a child’s bedroom. Out of Lucky’s earshot, Megatron began to point out everything he envisioned for the space. “We’d furnish these,” he said. “Make it a place where people could stay, even temporarily, for free. One of these would have to be Crash’s room, of course, but we could make him share.”

“What about us?” Orion asked. “I thought I was moving out and you were selling 113 West James.”

Megatron grinned. “We are. Hey Lucky, can we see upstairs?” 

Lucky gestured upwards, saying, “Go on up and have a look-see. I think I’m gonna stay down here, though. Gets kinda cold up there. Lotsa windows.” 

Crash followed them up the steep set of stairs to the attic, took one look around the empty room, and then went back down. “It’s one room,” he pointed out. 

“But this is where the magic happens,” Megatron said. “This’ll be our main base of operations.”

“So we’ve upgraded from basements to attics. Cool.”

“But this is a  _ finished  _ attic.”

Crash rolled his eyes. “Just come and get me when you two are done. Lucky’s right. Is cold up here.”

“What are you thinking about?” Orion asked after Crash had disappeared back downstairs. 

“Well, I was thinking this could be our space. It’s about the size of a studio apartment, so maybe we could just live up here. Get some beds, some dividers. There’re even some closets. And then here,” Megatron moved over to the center of the room, “we could have our planning area. Our war room, if you will. We could all meet up here to discuss our plans. I was thinking we could put the more specialized areas downstairs, or in the bedrooms. You know, a hacking setup like the one Kickswitch had, or a forger’s table. But the main events will be here. And then,” he moved to the back left hand corner of the room, “we could put a few sparring mats here.” 

Orion snorted. “Sparring mats? Why do we need those? We’re never in hand-to-hand combat.” 

“But we could be! Especially since our weaponry is going to be almost universally more rudimentary than that of those we’re going up against,” Megatron pointed out. “Besides, it keeps your reflexes sharp. And I was thinking, there was this thing we used to do in the Myriad, if you had an argument with someone, you would spar while you argued.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” Orion asked incredulously. The more he learned about the Myriad the more it sounded like an unreal place, like something out of a storybook. 

“Well not  _ everyone  _ did it,” Megatron explained. “It came out of the pit fighters. We used to—“

“Excuse me, the  _ what? _ ”

“Did I not tell you about that? It’s how I got into the Myriad.”

Thinking back on it, Orion did recall Megatron mentioning being a gladiator. He’d resolved to ask about it, but never had. He’d half assumed he’d been joking. 

“I’m pretty strong and tough and all that, so I signed up for one of the Myriad’s pit fights. They weren’t to the death or anything, but they could get pretty brutal. And then I did so well that Onyx—the woman who lead the Myriad before Galvatron—inducted me into the gang proper.”

Orion stared at him, dumbfounded. “You are a parody of yourself.” 

“My life is what it is, Orion. Take it or leave it.” Then, noticing something, Megatron walked over to the corner of the room. He held up two long wooden dowels. “What d’you think these are?”

Orion looked at them closely. “Look like door stoppers to me. Like locks for sliding doors. What are they doing here?”

Megatron shrugged, then tossed one to Orion, who caught it easily. Then he held his dowel like a quarterstaff and pointed it at Orion. “En garde.” 

Orion snorted again. “Now?”

“Why not? If you’re so sure we don’t need sparring mats, why don’t you show me what you got? Fencing rules: first touch.” 

Before Megatron could make another move, Orion had swept the dowel underhanded towards Megatron’s knees. Megatron dodged deftly out of the way, lighter on his feet than his frame would suggest. In a moment, he’d swung back, overhand, only for their dowels to meet in the middle with a satisfying  _ crack!  _ They continued like that for less than a minute, the dowels whooshing through the air and smacking against one another until Megatron’s dowel whacked firmly onto Orion’s shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down his arm. 

“Touché,” Orion said. “Guess I am out of practice. I haven’t sparred since I was in training.” 

“Sparring mats it is,” Megatron said smugly before setting the dowel down. 

“Is that why you sparred while you argued?” Orion asked. “Was it that whoever won the match won the argument?” 

“Not exactly. It was more about the process of sparring and arguing rather than the outcome,” Megatron explained. “If you’re fighting physically while arguing, you have something else to focus on, so that the argument doesn’t cloud your mind. And you’re actually fighting with the person you’re fighting with, so you don’t build up frustration with them. That’s what Onyx used to say, anyway. She was fond of the policy. Galvatron, less so.”

“Why?” Orion asked. 

Megatron gave him a sly smile. “He got sick of losing to me verbally and physically.” 

“Were you the only one who could beat him?” Orion said.

“Consistently? Yes. Actually, that’s not true. I was the only one of his subordinates who could consistently beat him. But he had—has, I assume she’s still alive—he has a sister. He has a younger sister who can kick his ass any day of the week.” 

“Did he get sick of losing to her too?”

“No. They didn’t fight very often. He sort of tolerated her excellence because of their relation. When I left the Myriad she was the one he sent to assassinate me. Funny story there. I didn’t kill her, if you were wondering.” 

Orion had been wondering. He felt relieved, for some reason. Just then, Crash poked his head up from the stairs. “What the fuck are you two doing up here? Lucky’s getting impatient.” 

Back at Orion’s apartment, with Megatron lying on his back looking up at floor plans and Crash out getting lunch for the three of them, Orion asked, “When you said you were a gladiator, you also said you were a poet.”

“I did say that,” Megatron said, not looking away from the floor plans. “All that blue in there. We’ll have to paint it something different. Like purple.”

“Purple? Why purple?”

“Why not? It’s a good color.” 

“Just a lot of it, is all.” Orion paused. “What made you decide to write poetry?”

“Oh, you know, this that and the other thing. Terminus was big into it. Pen is mightier than the sword and what have you. I believed in that, too. When I was a kid. I thought if you said the right things to the right people, you could change the world. And don’t get me wrong, words are powerful, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. And I—we didn’t have many books, obviously. But I loved to read. And one day Terminus gave me a copy of  _ The Waste Land _ .”

“TS Eliot,” Orion noted. Surprising, and yet not. 

“ _ A heap of broken images, _ ” Megatron recited, placing the floor plans down on his chest, “ _ where the sun beats,/And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,/And the dry stone no sound of water. _ I loved it. I memorized the whole thing.” 

“Can I hear some?”

“Of  _ The Waste Land _ ?” 

“Of yours. If you remember any.” 

“I don’t really remember much. Not off the top of my head. I think I have a few journals at 113. I could show them to you.”

“What do you remember?” 

“Little bits of missing puzzle pieces leaving oddly shaped holes/Bipedal spaces and whiffs of lemon amongst decay/Cinnamon spice clove amongst metal and rain/Little bits of something/Something, something, other things, all of which cannot be named,” Megatron said. “That’s the gist of it anyway. It’s from the last poem I wrote.”

Orion smiled gently. “It was beautiful. You should write more.” 

Megatron tilted his head so he could look at Orion, an earnest happiness in his eyes. “Maybe I will. It has been a while.”

“Sandwiches!” Crash exclaimed, waltzing in the door. “So, what’re we lookin’ at, Megs?” 

Megatron sat up and put the floor plans on the coffee table. “Now that we’ve got a potential home base, I was thinking about hiring. Y’know. Finally. We’ve got a getaway driver now, assuming you’ll stick around.”

“Hey, as long as you continue to house and feed me, I’m all good,” Crash said, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

“Why didn’t you do this earlier?” Orion asked him. “Find a more permanent place to sleep that is.”

“‘Cause this is the nicest place I’ve ever stayed,” Crash replied, his mouth full of food. “I’m not sleeping on the floor, the host isn’t passed out drunk or having sex in front of me, the apartment isn’t actively on fire. I could go on.”

Orion stared at him for a long moment. “I legitimately do not know how to respond to that.”

“Then don’t. Megatron?”

Megatron cleared his throat. “Yes. As I was saying, we have a getaway driver, leadership, and a little bit of muscle. However, we still need a lot more people if we want this all to go smoothly. A hacker is the top priority, then a forger. A spymaster and some inside contacts would be nice, but we can rely on information brokers for the time being. A weapons expert won’t be necessary until later, and I can serve as propagandist for now. A doctor is...an issue. I don’t trust most syndicate doctors. Your friend at the Dead End clinic could help, though, if she’s willing. But first: a hacker.” 

“I can’t say I know any hackers,” Orion said. 

“I know a few,” Crash said. “But they’re all wrapped up in the Myriad. None of ‘em are freelance.”

“I won’t take Kickswitch off the table,” Megatron said. “Though they did make it pretty clear that they don’t want to ever see me again. Other than them, I’ve got three names I’m thinking of. There’s Perceptor of Iacon Heights, who is considered by some to be the best hacker in the city, but as such, he’s notoriously expensive. We might be able to get him on board with the cause, but we’d need to get him in the room first, which would be expensive on its own. Next there’s Hacker X-3–“

“That’s quite a name,” Orion commented. 

“Yes, well, we don’t know his real one. Nobody does. He’s good, but he’s obviously very hard to find. Finally there’s Veritas of Nyon, whom I’ve worked with personally before. She’s probably the most pleasant of the three. She’s done Myriad work before, but only on contract, so she’s technically still freelance. I don’t have any contact information for her, though, and she switches all of that out every six months, so we’ll have to start from the ground up in finding her. We also may have trouble getting her to side with the cause. She’s very neutral on these things.”

“We may as well try,” Orion said. “What about a forger?”

“Paksa-Grazie and Lower Iacon are crawling with forgers,” Crash said.

Megatron held a finger up. “But there’s only one worth hiring.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do love domesticity.


	16. Veritas et Aequitas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veritas is probably my favorite OC I've created for this. After her, there's only one more to introduce. I hope you like her. Warning for this chapter for discussions of medical mutilation.

On the way back to 211 Monticello Avenue, Orion sat awkwardly in the backseat with Sketch. She was a short and stout young woman, with short hair and tortoiseshell glasses. “So, Megatron,” she finally said. “Is this what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

“More or less,” Megatron answered.

“So what is it? A new gang? Trying to stake your claim on the Lower Iacon scene now that Galvatron won’t have you? I see you’ve got Crash on board. Color me impressed.”

Megatron laughed. “No. It’s nothing so simple as that. The fact of the matter is that the gangs are both the problem and the solution.”

Sketch looked confused. “The solution to what? Themselves?” 

“The system that created them,” Megatron answered. “I don’t like Galvatron. I think he’s an unpleasant person who hurts people to get what he wants. But he and the Myriad are symptoms of a much wider issue: the unfair system that necessitates people turning to criminal activity to sustain themselves, and the corporations and the people who run them who benefit from this unfairness, who benefit from us fighting each other instead of them.” 

Sketch sat in stunned silence for a long moment before taking a deep breath and saying, “You are the first person I’ve spoken to in a long time who’s made any sense.” She sighed and placed a hand on her forehead. “The last time I was on good terms with Swindle—as much as someone can  _ be  _ on good terms with Swindle—I said to him, I said, ‘Why are you conning all these poor schmucks in Lower Iacon out of what little money they have? You could go to Iacon Heights and make a fortune.' And then he said, ‘Yeah, but if I get caught scamming rich people, I could get in trouble. I could go to jail. Here, if I get caught, it’s no issue. They have no recourse.’ And I said, ‘That’s fucked up.’ And then he just shrugged. Like it was nothing.” 

“How did you end up a forger?” Orion asked. 

“Everybody has their talents, right?” Sketch replied. “I used to mimic handwriting. I was good at it. And then my sister made it big in high society and I didn’t want to mooch off of her for the rest of my life so I thought, hey, why can’t I make it big down here?” She chuckled softly. “She doesn’t like it. ‘Come up here and live with me,’ she says. But I like it down here. The people are so much more real, the environment more tangible. It’s hard to explain.”

“I understand perfectly,” Megatron told her. “We’re here.”

They pulled up outside of 211 Monticello Avenue. In the months since they’d bought it, they’d made some changes. “Lucky’s Delicatessen” had been scrubbed from the front windows and replaced with heavy maroon curtains. Inside, the booths had been removed, and a round kitchen table moved from Orion’s apartment sat in its stead. 

“Home sweet home,” Megatron announced as they walked in the door. A little bell above the door jangled as it opened. That had come with the deli, but it was a useful feature to have: knowing when someone had just walked in the front door. Megatron had lofty aspirations of installing a doorbell and PA system or even an alarm so that any intruders couldn’t possibly make it through the front unnoticed. 

“Spacious,” Sketch commented. “Where’d you get the money for this place?”

“We steal,” Orion said. “A lot.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Roller had an idea to turn the bottom floor into a nightclub though. Just to keep the lights on.”

“Who’s Roller?”

“The muscle to Orion’s hustle,” Megatron said, clapping Orion on the back. “So do you have a place to sleep?”

“I rent an upstairs room from this guy I know.”

“Well, we have rooms here, if you need them, and you’re lucky to get in on the ground floor,” Megatron said, giving a sales pitch worthy of a used car lot. “The only room that’s taken is Crash’s.”

“And I ain’t sharing,” Crash said, disappearing up the stairs. 

Sketch stood in the center of the room, looking around in what was perhaps admiration, though maybe it was confusion. She’d had a long afternoon. “So what are you guys doing here?”

Megatron slung his bag onto the table and sat down. “Well, right now we’re looking for a hacker. We’re trying to locate Veritas of Nyon. Do you know her?”

“I know of her,” Sketch replied, sitting down across from him. “Maybe we met once? I don’t really remember.”

“We think she’s living somewhere in Lower Iacon, near my old apartment,” Orion added, sitting down between Sketch and Megatron. “And she sometimes just goes by ‘V.’”

Sketch tapped her chin. “V? You know what? Maybe I have met her. I used to do graphic displays for this nightclub she frequented. What was it called? The Neon Underground, I think.”

Surprisingly, Orion knew the Neon Underground. He, Springarm, Wheelarch, and Roller used to go there when they were still in training. 

“It’s as good a place as any to start,” Megatron said.

Which was how Megatron, Orion, Roller, Crash, and Sketch ended up at a nightclub at one o’clock in the morning, surrounded by people much younger than them. Much younger than Megatron, Orion, and Roller, anyhow. Crash looked about the right age for this place, and Sketch’s age was hard to discern. The lights were pretty, though, all pink and purple across the black painted walls and floor, and the music had a good beat. Was this the new Jazz track Wheelarch had mentioned during their last phone conversation? Orion missed Wheelarch. He’d feel right at home here, despite the age discrepancy. He wondered briefly if he and Roller would ever be able to bring their friends on board with this. He missed Wheelarch’s vivaciousness and Springarm’s level head. He should mention it to Roller. So far, Roller had been keeping his involvement in Megatron’s revolution a secret from his boyfriend. But that could change. Springarm was perceptive. 

“Do you all know what V looks like?” Sketch said, having to stand on her tiptoes to reach Orion’s ear and shout over the noise of the music and conversation.

“We thought you knew!” Orion shouted back.

“I only saw her a few times! She was pretty, that’s all I remember!” 

_ Pretty. Great.  _ Most of the people here could be described as pretty, including the five of them. 

“We’ll split up,” Megatron instructed. “Orion, you watch the bar. Sketch, keep an eye on the bathroom. Crash, investigate the dance floor. Roller, watch the back door, and I’ll watch the front.”

Orion settled onto a bar stool as the other four split up. It had been a long time since he’d been to a place like this, any place like this. The bartender poured drinks with admirable skill and around him everyone was dancing and shouting and laughing. It was a bit of a sensory overload, and before he knew it, he’d tuned out of his surroundings. He was startled back to reality by a stranger sitting down next to him.

“‘Sup, V,” the bartender said, and Orion’s eyes snapped open, the wires in brain firing off.

“Hey,” V replied. “The usual.”

He looked over at her. She was tall and lithe, with dark skin that glowed in the purple light and thick, braided hair. The bartender passed her what seemed to be a glass of whiskey, and as she drank it, Orion caught sight of her face. His eyes widened. She was the spitting image of Spectrum of Nyon. 

“Veritas,” he finally managed to spit out after losing his tongue in the back of his throat for several long moments.

She turned to look at him. Christ. They could’ve been twins. “Do I know you?” she asked.

“No, but I know of—“ he cut himself off. What a cheesy line. What would he possibly say to her? Should he bring up Spectrum now? Or should he wait? “No. But I’ve been looking for you—to hire you.” 

“Not interested,” Veritas replied, turning back to her drink. “What are you, Myriad? Romeo? Arkadia? I quit that shit months ago. I’m out.”

“None of the above, actually,” Orion told her.

She snorted into her glass. “So you’re some new gang then? You think you’ll be able to challenge Galvatron or someone equally important and assholish and you want my help to do it.”

“No, I—not quite. Y’see, it’s—“  _ Fuck it.  _ “I knew Spectrum.”

That made Veritas look up. “How do you know that name.”

“I knew her. Not very well. I visited her in prison, I—arrested her, actually. But I got her story out of prison and onto everyone’s news feeds. With Shockwave.”

Veritas reached out slowly, and then she curled her fingers around Orion’s shirt collar and leaned in. “Then you’re responsible for what happened to her,” she growled. “You. You and that  _ Councilor _ .”

“I’m sorry,” Orion said. He wasn’t afraid of her. She didn’t look scary. But the rage in her eyes was incandescent, and her knuckles against his throat brought the pain of Shockwave and Spectrum’s disappearances back to the surface of his skin. His chest ached.

“Orion? What's going on?” Crash appeared behind them. “Veritas?”

She looked over at him, puzzled by his sudden appearance. 

“Maybe we should take this outside,” Orion suggested to Veritas. 

“Maybe,” she agreed, an edge remaining in her voice. Then she grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him away from Crash and towards the back door. Her fingers dug into his skin through his shirt, she was holding onto him so tightly. They passed by Roller on the way out, who looked at them quizzically. Orion managed to throw him a thumbs up before Veritas pulled him out the door. He was pretty sure the thumbs up hadn’t been a lie. He hoped it hadn’t been a lie. 

The night air, though warm, was a welcome relief from the claustrophobic heat of the nightclub. They were alone on the concrete back porch, a metal railing encircling them. Veritas finally let go. 

“I’m sorry,” Orion repeated.

“Save it,” Veritas said. “I’ve heard it all before.” She looked over at him. “Do you know what happened to Spectrum?”

“I know she was kidnapped by Thyranotos. We looked for her. I’m sorry.”

“ _ Stop apologizing _ ,” she said through gritted teeth. “It won’t make her better. So you don’t know what happened to her after?”

Orion shook his head.

Veritas walked over to the railing and leaned on it, staring up into the dim night sky. “It was forty-eight hours before I heard from her. I got Shockwave’s messages, but I had no way of finding her. She vanished, the story broke, and then, two days later, she showed up at my apartment alive and—well, not quite intact. She’d used the lockdown as an opportunity to escape, but not before they’d done some work. They wanted to keep her from saying what she knew, to keep her from talking, so they removed her vocal cords. They were going to take her hands, too, to keep her from writing or signing, but she escaped before they could.” 

Orion was speechless. He could hardly imagine something so barbaric being done to anyone.  _ Why not just kill her?  _ Was it meant to be some sort of punishment? He couldn’t fathom it. “Where is she now?”

“She ran away. Into the desert. She wasn’t safe in the city.”

“No. She wasn’t.”  _ Though I’m starting to think none of us are _ . Orion stood up and leaned on the railing next to Veritas. “Shockwave’s gone too.”

“I saw. On the news.”

“Do you think what happened to Spectrum happened to Shockwave?”

“If they didn’t escape, then I’m sure they suffered far worse.” Veritas’ tone was impassive, matter-of-fact. Like she was talking about the weather yesterday and not the horrors of Thyranotos’ medical abuse. 

Orion didn’t know why he’d asked that question. He’d already known the answer, and it was exactly the one Veritas had given. He didn’t say anything to her, he only looked at her as she looked at the sky, the hot rage in her eyes replaced by a wet, sticky grief. “We’re taking down Thyranotos,” he finally said. “And all of the other corporations. We’re a gang, technically, but our goal isn’t monetary gain but total societal overhaul. If we succeed, nothing like what happened to Spectrum will happen to anyone else ever again.”

She closed her eyes and gave a soft, sad smile, one that probably wasn’t meant for him. “Spectrum was all about that kinda stuff. Politics, I mean. Improving society. I never was. Always too focused on my own survival. But that was okay, it  _ was  _ okay, she said it was okay. We used to help each other out. I’d hack stuff for her—I taught her how to hack—and then she’d refer clients my way. Once she started breaking into Thyranotos, though, I said, ‘No thanks. I’m out. It’s too dangerous. You’ll get yourself and me killed.’ But all this time I’ve been wondering if I’d been there, if I could’ve saved her voice.” Veritas collapsed down on her arms, her face half-buried in her elbows. “Not that that’s ever a useful train of thought.” 

“So?” Orion asked. “Are you in?”

Veritas ran a hand down her face. “On principle I should say no. I would’ve said no to anyone else. But I’m not gonna lie, burning Thyranotos to the goddamn ground sounds pretty fuckin’ appealing.” 

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no, that’s all. If I see what your situation’s like, I’ll think about it.”

“We have a base. A house Downtown. We have a few other members, too. A forger, a driver.”

“Crash?” 

“Yeah, him.”

“I’ve seen him around a few times. Seems like a sweet kid.”

“He is. Would you like to meet him? And the others?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Orion led her back towards the door, and when he opened it, everyone almost tumbled outside. It appeared they’d been eavesdropping. He looked at them bemusedly. “Everybody, this is Veritas. Veritas, this is everybody.”

Roller waved at her sheepishly. “Roller. I used to be Shockwave’s bodyguard.”

“Crash,” Crash said, with little embarrassment. “Getaway driver extraordinaire.”

Megatron stood up straight. He’d been bending over everyone else to get his ear against the door. “Megatron. We’ve met.”

“We have,” Veritas agreed, folding her arms. “How goes it with Galvatron?”

“It goes. Except when it doesn’t,” Megatron answered. “He tries to assassinate me, I steal from him, you know.”

“Sketch,” Sketch said, sticking out her hand. “We’ve also met. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember me.” It was hard to tell in the darkness, but was Sketch blushing? And why? 

Veritas smiled at her, smiled genuinely for the first time since Orion had encountered her, and shook Sketch’s hand. “I do remember you. Neon speaks very highly of your work. ‘Can’t believe she left to be a forger,’ they’re always saying.”

Sketch snorted, blushing harder. “Pssh. Should’ve paid me more.” 

Veritas laughed. “Neon’s been a cheapskate all their life and you know it.” 

Megatron cleared his throat. “So, Veritas. Would you like to see the base?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

It was late when they got back to 211. So late that Megatron offered Sketch and Veritas the opportunity to stay over. “We have two spare bedrooms,” he said. “You could each have your own if you liked. Veritas, do you have a home?” 

“I do,” Veritas replied, looking somewhat distant. “But it’s good to hear that you have living space to offer people. There’s a lot of purple in here.”

Megatron had insisted on painting the whole downstairs purple. Orion and Crash had prevented him from wreaking havoc on the upstairs too. “We should let people paint their own rooms,” Crash had pointed out, and Megatron had relented. Though he and Orion had both regretted it when Crash had painted his room the loudest, most disgusting shades of orange and blue in an obnoxious striped pattern. The top floor was still the light blue it had been when they’d bought the house, and Orion wasn’t in a huge rush to change it. 

Megatron frowned. “It’s a good color.”

Veritas held up her hands. “Hey, I’m not complaining. Just stating a fact.” Then, after a brief moment, she asked, “So, you have a base, you’re gathering personnel, you’ve made some progress in damaging the function of corporate machines, but what’s your end goal? And what’s your long-term plan to get there?” 

Megatron’s face lit up. “I’m glad you asked. Please. Sit.” He pulled out his bag and flipped open his laptop and began to explain. “The first goal is to prepare ourselves, largely by taking from the people who deserve to be taken from: corporations and the holdings of the larger syndicates. That’s the stage we’re in now. Money, food, weapons, people, favors, information. The second stage overlaps with the first. We need to take our gang and turn it into a movement. Lasting power lies with the collective, and neither Orion nor I have any interest in becoming oligarchs. We need the whole city to be in on this, and if not the whole city, most of it. We’ll eventually need a propagandist, though I’m not a half bad one myself if I may say so. Third stage is the revolution. We as a collective present our demands to the corporations: leave or else.”

“What’s the ‘or else’?” Sketch asked. She was leaning against one of the walls.

“Or else we forcibly seize their assets. I don’t want to resort to violent action, but it may very well come to that. Finally, once the corporations are gone, we do our best to set up a fair system of law. That’s the hardest step, but it’s also a long way off.”

Veritas whistled. “Lofty goals,” she said.

Megatron gave her a small smile. “We can’t afford to aim lower. In between then and now we’ll do our best to fight corruption where we see it and help those who need it. The dissolution of the City Council was a blow, but it was hardly the end of what we set out to do.”

“Well,” Veritas said, “I have to admit that I’m impressed. I’m on board. Let’s kick some Thyranotos ass.” 

Sketch ended up staying over, though Veritas didn’t. Orion couldn’t help but notice how disappointed Sketch looked as Veritas walked out the door. Orion himself was exhausted. His head still hurt from the loud music in the Neon Underground, and he’d been awake far too long. So he headed upstairs. The upstairs was still sparsely furnished. There were the sparring mats, and then Orion and Megatron’s rooms, if one could call them rooms. They were beds and dressers in each front corner of the larger room, cut off from one another and the rest of the house by temporary, freestanding dividers. Megatron said he planned to have walls put up, to make them real rooms, but Orion wasn’t sure when that would ever happen. Just after he got changed, a knock came on his divider. 

“Orion?” Megatron’s voice called. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Orion replied.

Megatron pushed aside the divider, came in, and sat on Orion’s bed: the same shitty twin he’d had in his apartment in Lower Iacon. The frame sagged a little under his weight. “It was a good day,” Megatron said.

“It was,” Orion agreed, sitting down next to him.

“We found a forger  _ and  _ a hacker.”

“We did.”

“Do you think Sketch might have a crush on Veritas?”

Orion laughed softly. “I’d put money on it.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Megatron said, “I wrote a new poem last night. My first one in a long while. Would you like to hear it?”

Orion smiled. “I’d love to.”

Megatron unfolded a sheet of notebook paper and began to read:

“It was a labyrinth that started on the edge of an ocean of trash   
and continued into a valley of rust  
that descended into a cave underneath   
the concrete rubble of a broken city filled with alley   
ways and cramped little corners framed by big windows,  
and traversed by me, yarn in hand, looking for home,

trying to find it for so long I forgot the word for ‘home’  
in every language. It became synonymous with trash.  
I looked at other people’s houses through glassless windows,  
but theirs were just as ugly as mine, as full of rust.  
In the ocean of trash, I found little alleys   
that suggested a way out, above, through, or underneath.

  
On the shores of the ocean, I wound my way underneath  
to the next ugly, destroyed place I’d call home  
and mean it. I crawled through desolate alleys  
on my hands and knees, palms sliced to ribbons by shards of trash.  
I choked on the smog of this place, wrapped tight in its rust,  
someone’s smile showing me the world through glowing windows.   
  
In and under the pit there were no windows.  
Only the dirt and sweat and oil and the stench of being underneath  
a place like this. The stains were the color of rust.   
I was up to my knees in wanting to call this place home  
and failing. The floor of the pit was littered with trash:  
uglier and dirtier than the worst moments I’d scampered down alleys.   
  
In between then and now, I lived in an alley:  
Dark, dank, and unknowably safe from the windows  
of the world. The basement was filled with trash,  
but I didn’t mind. I was in a blanket of quiet calm underneath  
heavy shadows and soft darkness. It almost felt like home.   
Even the creeping stains were of no harm: black mold and red rust.   
  
On the roof of a house downtown, the sunset is the color of rust,  
the night sky darker than the darkest midnight alley,  
and I can breathe in and out, my lungs in my chest are at home.  
On the top floor of the house there are big bay windows  
to let the sunlight in. I watch the light refract into rainbows underneath.  
From here I can see all the way to the ocean of trash.   
  
My body is wrecked. The alley that runs up my back is full of trash.  
All aches and rusted bones and stains underneath  
my skin. A sigh escapes its home in my mouth and fogs up the window.” 

 

Megatron looked up at Orion and smiled hopefully.

“It’s beautiful,” Orion said. “Can I see it?”

Megatron handed him the paper. “It’s a sestina,” he said.

“What’s that?” 

“A poem with six—well, seven, technically—stanzas with six lines each. And then the end words of every line repeats in a set pattern.”

“Oh. That sounds difficult.”

“It’s not. Not really. Not as difficult as it looks on paper, anyway.”

“I really liked it. Will you write more?” 

“Yeah, I think I will. But not tonight. I’m dead tired. Goodnight, Orion.” 

“Goodnight, Megatron.” 

Orion fell asleep almost immediately, the exhaustion having ravaged his body, the late hour weighing on his tired mind. But as he fell asleep, he felt a warm feeling creeping up in his chest.  _ Poetry _ , he thought, not being able to form complete sentences, even in his head.  _ Such beautiful, clean poetry. Clean even though it was about dirt and rust and trash.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are so lucky that I'm wasting my not-inconsiderable poetry writing talent on Transformers fanfiction.
> 
> Happy Fourth! As happy as the Fourth can be these days.


	17. Can You Ever Forgive Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, after the introduction of the OC in this chapter, there's one more. Technically two more, but only one who's very important.

Orion woke up one morning a few weeks later to his phone ringing on his nightstand. He instantly sat up, his heart racing. It was Roller’s ringtone, and the last time he’d—but it wasn’t four am this time. According to his phone, it was approaching ten. He picked up the phone. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—“ Roller said without greeting him.

“What’s going on? Who’s hurt?”

“No one’s hurt! It’s Springarm, he’s on the warpath, he’s in the car with me. We’re driving to you now. Just. Be ready. He’s really mad. I’m so sorry.”

“ _ Oh I’ll show him sorry _ ,” Orion heard Springarm say in the background. He got up. “Megatron?” he called over. “We’re about to have guests.”

“What?” Megatron grumbled sleepily. “Who’s coming?”

“Roller and Springarm. Who’s apparently about to blow a gasket.”

“Why?”

“Probably because Roller and I have been keeping this from him.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he heard Megatron sigh. A moment later, Megatron pushed aside his divider and stepped out into the room, still in his pajamas, his silver hair sticking out in many different directions. “You know, I really wish you’d worked this out sooner.”

“Trust me, old friend, I wish that more than you do.”

“‘Old friend,’ eh?”

“What?”

Megatron shook his head and smiled. “Nothing.” 

At that moment, the bell above the front door rang, and stomping and shouting could be heard below. 

By the time Megatron and Orion got to the bottom floor, Springarm’s storming fury had frozen over into an icy rage that manifested in crossed arms and a glare that could freeze the devil’s shit. “So,” he said, tersely. “This is what you quit the force for.”

 “Yes,” Orion replied honestly.

“Would it have  _ killed  _ you or Roller to tell me?”

“No. But it might’ve killed you.”

That did not seem to placate Springarm in the slightest. “That wasn’t your call to make. Especially when my boyfriend is involved. Which—for the record—wasn’t his call to make either.” He pulled a hand down his face. “I love you both so much, and you make it so  _ fucking  _ hard. I knew you two were up to something—Roller  _ lives _ with me for chrissakes, and I just kept waiting for you to tell me what it was. And you—and you never did.” The cold anger had been replaced by a kind of sadness, or desperation, or frustration, or maybe all of the above. “Wheelarch is coming. I called him on the way over.”

“Is he mad?” Orion asked.

“Yes, but not as mad as me. It’s probably a good thing you didn’t tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because if you’d involved him and not me I would’ve never forgiven you.”

Orion’s eyebrows knit together. “I hope you don’t mean that.”

“I hope I don’t mean that either, but I might.” Springarm slumped down into one of the chairs. “I’m just so tired. You two went through something with Shockwave that I’ll never understand, and I get that, but I wish you had at least given me the opportunity to try to understand.”

The bell above the door jingled and Wheelarch strode inside. “I should kick your ass for this,” he told Orion in a deadpan tone. He turned to Roller. “I should super kick your ass for this. Who lies to their boyfriend?”

Megatron had faded into the background of the room, not saying a word, his eyes bouncing between the four of them. Sketch and Crash were there too, with Sketch having moved in a few days ago. They hid in the kitchen, occasionally peeking through the window in the door. 

Roller sat down next to Springarm so that he was knee-to-knee with him. He took his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that I apologized before but I want you to know that I really mean it. I shouldn’t have kept things from you. Losing Shockwave hurt, but that’s no excuse. I’m not going to ask you to forgive me, because that’s not what I need. I just hope you don’t blame yourself for any of it. You’ve been an ideal boyfriend, and you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. This was my mistake.”

“And mine,” Orion added, though the words felt lame and hollow after what Roller had just said. “You two are my best friends. And I lied to you, many times over.” He sat down across from Springarm. 

“I assume you’re going to tell us the truth now,” Springarm said. 

Roller let go of Springarm’s hands and looked over at Orion. “It was. It started. Shockwave.” He clapped a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“We were involved in the Thyranotos genetic engineering story, as I told you,” Orion filled in. “And then things only got worse from there. Spectrum was kidnapped. We didn’t find her. Shockwave was kidnapped. We didn’t find them. Megatron and I broke into Thyranotos to look for them. And then after that I quit. I couldn’t exist in the same way. Megatron has a plan. A big plan, one that may not work, but it’s better than doing nothing. Just continuing to live our lives like nothing happened. Like I’d never met Shockwave or Megatron. I asked Roller if he wanted to be a part of it, and he said yes. And now here we are.” 

Wheelarch looked over at Megatron, half cloaked in the shadow of the stairwell. “So? What is the plan?”

Megatron shook his head. “Same one as always. Make Cybertron better for the people who live in it. But it won’t be better, not permanently, unless we get the corporations out.”

“Since then, we’ve collected a few more members,” Orion continued. “Sketch, our forger, is in the kitchen with Crash, our getaway driver. Veritas, our hacker, is Spectrum’s sister.” A fresh wave of grief rolled over him. “She told us that Thyranotos cut Spectrum’s vocal cords out. And that they’d have cut off her hands too had she not escaped. And they probably did worse—are  _ doing  _ worse—to Shockwave.” 

Springarm and Wheelarch were stunned into silence for a long moment. Then Springarm shook his head. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “I saw Spectrum’s story same as everybody else. But somehow…” He trailed off.

“Why not just kill her?” Wheelarch asked.

“We’re not sure,” Megatron answered. “But the depths of their cruelty seem limitless. Even after all these months it can be hard to fathom.” 

“Count us in,” Springarm said. “Or count  _ me _ in. I can’t speak for Wheelarch.”

Wheelarch smiled down at his brother. “And yet you always do, Springy. Count me in too.” 

Springarm frowned at the nickname. “Is it too late to say that I don’t want you to join?”

“Too bad, dude. You’re stuck with me until the day I dive headfirst off this mortal coil.” 

Springarm couldn’t help but snort at that. “Good thing that’s shaping up to be sooner rather than later, then.” 

Springarm, Wheelarch, and Roller left after that. Megatron collapsed in a chair and Sketch and Crash slunk out from their hiding place in the kitchen. “That could’ve gone way worse,” Orion finally said. 

“We got two more members out of it,” Megatron agreed. 

“I didn’t know Roller had a boyfriend,” Sketch said. “If I’m being honest, none of you seem like you have the emotional intelligence to maintain a romantic relationship.”

“Tell us how you really feel,” Crash grumbled.

“Roller and Springarm have been together forever,” Orion said. “And I’m glad that Springarm was okay with what we were doing because in a choice between this and him, Roller wouldn’t go our way. Not in a million years.”

“He’s lucky,” Megatron commented. “They both are.” 

A week later, another visitor came to call, this time unannounced. It was on the shallow end of a hot afternoon, and Crash, Sketch, and Veritas were playing Go Fish while Megatron and Orion sat at the counter, going over the plans to get more money. They were running low, and they needed to pay the electric bill or else the summer heat that loomed on the year’s horizon might literally kill them. 

And then a woman walked in. She was dressed to the nines, especially for this heat, with blue mirrored sunglasses and a purple suit speckled with a galaxy pattern. She held a green smoothie in her hand. She pushed up her sunglasses, and Orion recognized her instantly. “Starbright of Nyon?” he said.

Sketch, apparently, recognized her too, though her shock was accompanied by anger. “Starbright!” she shouted, standing up so quickly that her chair tipped over. “What are you  _ doing _ here?” 

“Hey there Little Sunflower,” Starbright said coolly. “Been looking all over for you. See, imagine you’re me, a few days ago, thinking, ‘Hey. I haven’t heard from my baby sister in a little while. What’s going on? But you’re not answering your texts, so I go to Vinyl’s apartment. Except he says you’ve moved out. Moved out weeks ago, even! And I say to him, I say, ‘How can that be? How could my sister, the most important person in the world to me, just move without telling me where she’s going?’ He says he doesn’t know. So I start looking for you, and your GPS says you’ve made quite a few visits to 211 Monticello Avenue Downtown. So. Here I am. According to my phone, this place was a deli not to long ago. What is it now?”

Crash pointed at Sketch. “Never say anything to me about my emotional intelligence again if you have an estranged sister.”

“An estranged sister who happens to be award-winning actress Starbright of Nyon,” Megatron commented. “You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?”

“I’m not estranged,” Starbright said. “I love my sister more than anything in the world, and we text on the reg. Or we  _ used to _ , anyway.”

“And her real name’s Starbright of the Rust Valley,” Sketch added, with more pout in her voice than Orion had ever seen her display.

Starbright waved a hand. “Tomato tomahto. You didn’t answer my question. Forging’s going well if you can afford to stay here.”

“It’s free,” Sketch retorted, then, before they could stop her, “It’s a revolution. We’re going to drive out the corporations and make this city better for those who live in it.”

Starbright stood there for a moment, then a smile crept across her face, growing wider and wider until all of her teeth were showing. Then she burst into laughter. “That’s a good one, Sketchy! That’s really funny! I mean, I gave you your sense of humor, but I didn’t expect that one! A revolution!” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Hang on—gimme a second. No, no, wait. Still funny.” 

“I’m not joking, Star.”

Starbright was still laughing.

“I  _ said _ , I’m not joking.” 

“She’s not joking,” Orion added. Unhelpfully, in hindsight. 

Starbright looked up. “She’s not?” She looked around the room at everyone. None of them were laughing, or even smiling. “Oh my god she’s not—you’re not joking.” All traces of a smile faded from her face. “Then you’ve finally lost it. Okay, Sketch, you’ve finally lost it. What to do, what to do.” She pointed up the stairs. “Go upstairs and get your things. We’re leaving.” 

“What?” Sketch exclaimed. “No way!”

“Yes way! This is insanity, and Mom’d rip her hair out if she knew!”

“Good thing Mom’s dead and I’m a goddamn adult!” Sketch snapped. “You’re not the boss of me,  _ Stella _ .” 

Starbright’s facade of composure was quickly cracking. “I cannot  _ believe  _ you just said that. You are such a child!”

“See! That’s your problem! You keep treating me like I’m still a little kid! You’re not responsible for me!”

“Yes I am!” Starbright snapped back. “Ever since Mom died it’s been my job to take care of you! It’s not my fault you’re so damn stubborn you’ve refused any help and turned to  _ criminal activity  _ instead!” 

“Maybe you should take this outside,” Megatron, ever the diplomat, suggested. 

“No way!” Sketch shouted at him. “I’m not leaving.”

“Then maybe we should take our planning upstairs,” he offered to Orion.

“Good idea.”

There was a portable fold-out table on the top floor, for use in this exact situation: when things got too rowdy downstairs. Which, since they’d acquired two more members, one of whom was Wheelarch, had been becoming more and more frequent. 

“Siblings, amiright?” Megatron said, sitting down in a folding chair on the other side of the table from Orion. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Orion confessed. “Only child.” 

“Same here. Well, that I know of. I never knew my dad. And my mom disappeared. So I have an infinite number of siblings I don’t know about!” Megatron laughed, then abruptly sobered. “Sorry. Not funny.”

Orion put his head down on the table. “It’s your life. You can make morbid jokes about it if you want. What do you think is going on down there?” He could hear shouting ricocheting through the thin walls of the house, but it was indistinct. 

“God knows. I’m trying not to interfere. But if Starbright of fucking Nyon—or the Rust Valley, I guess—tries to walk off with our forger, we’re going to have words.”

“I doubt Sketch’d let her do it. She’s gonna have to knock her out and stuff her in a body bag to get her out of here. I still can’t believe that she’s Sketch’s sister.” Though he supposed they did look a lot alike, once you got them in the same room together.

“I still can’t believe Starbright is from the Rust Valley. I always assumed she was from Paraíso or Iacon Heights and that the Nyon suffix was to make her appeal more to the common people. I guess I was half right.”

“She does seem pretty glamorous in movies. More glamorous than she seems when she’s in a shouting match with her younger sister, anyway,” Orion admitted. 

Crash, Megatron, and Orion emerged about an hour later to find Starbright still sitting at the kitchen table and Sketch sitting in sullen silence at the counter, angrily drinking what appeared to be the rest of Starbright’s smoothie. 

“We came to an arrangement,” Starbright said. “She’s as stubborn as ever, but this is dangerous, and I’m not letting her do this alone. So I’m abandoning my career as an actress to be a revolutionary, apparently.” 

“Nobody is making you do this,” Sketch grumbled. “Nobody wants this. I don’t want it. You don’t want it.”

“You are making me do this,” Starbright snapped. “You think I’m letting you overthrow the government by yourself? No way. You know, or we could just go back to my apartment and forget this ever happened—“

“Not a chance.”

“Will you be staying here?” Megatron asked tentatively. 

“It seems my sister’s left me no choice,” Starbright sighed. “Guess I’m going all the way off the grid.”

“Would you like your own room? Or would you like to share?”

“I am not sharing a room with her,” Sketch and Starbright said in unison. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Siblings, right?


	18. Thermite and Rocket-Propelled Grenades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last two OCs! Though as you'll probably gather, only one is important.

_ Clack!  _ Orion’s quarterstaff slammed against Megatron’s. “I know we need one. I just don’t think we need one  _ yet _ .” 

“And when will we need one?” Megatron asked, whirling his staff around and going for a leg sweep. Orion stepped backwards, just barely avoiding being knocked off his feet. They’d graduated from dowels since they moved in, and though Megatron had said that in the pit, his weapons of choice had been bladed, this was safer. “Are you just going to keep putting it off forever?”

“No.” Orion went in for a jab and Megatron dodged deftly out of the way. 

“Listen,” Megatron continued.  _ Crack!  _ Their staffs slammed together again. “You know I don’t want to have to resort to violence—“  _ Crack!  _ Orion had been getting better since their first spar. He’d even be able to get a few hits in on his friend before Megatron inevitably knocked him over, signaling the end of the match. “—but we have to face facts here—“  _ Crack!  _ It almost felt like dancing at this point. “—and the facts are that we  _ need  _ a weapons expert.” 

This was getting tedious. Orion pulled his staff backwards to try and go for a bigger hit. “You said it yourself: it’s going to be difficult.”

“Which is why we should start now,” Megatron said, grabbing hold of Orion’s staff before it could catch Megatron in the ribs. “As long as Militech and the others control the means of production—“ He forced Orion backwards. “—they’re always going to be more prepared than us. Have better weapons than us.” He swung at Orion again, pulling off the maneuver that Orion had failed. Orion found the wind knocked out of his lungs, and he doubled over, panting. “But one person can change all that.” Megatron threw aside his staff and kneed Orion in the gut. Orion cried out in pain, his legs giving way underneath him. He looked up, and Megatron smiled down at him. “Wouldja look at that,” he said. “I win. Again.” He held out his hand and helped Orion to his feet.

“You know, I think you might’ve been lying to me when you said that the outcome of the match doesn’t correlate with the outcome of the argument.”

“They don’t correlate!” Megatron protested. “I won the sparring match. It was just a coincidence that I also happened to win the argument.”

“You didn’t win the argument.”

Megatron gave him a wry smile. “Didn’t I?” He walked to the edge of the mat and picked up his bag. “Now, like I said earlier, it’s going to be hard to find a weapons specialist because most weapons specialists worth their salt are wrapped up in syndicate shenanigans.”

“I can’t believe you just used the word ‘shenanigans.’”

“But is it not accurate? Anyway, as I was saying, this won’t be easy. Luckily for us, Veritas has found somebody.”

“Spill,” Orion said as they headed downstairs. He rubbed his stomach. He was going to feel that tomorrow.

“Everybody good is involved with the syndicates, right?”

“So you’ve said.”

“Well, that wasn’t quite the truth. There are people, weapons experts, who aren’t involved in organized crime. But why? It keeps them safe. It pays good money. So why not? Simple: they’re trying to fly under the radar. They don’t want to get noticed.”

“Why not?” Orion asked.

“In the case of the guy Veritas found, it’s because he’s ex-Militech. Thermite of Iacon Heights. One of their heads of development, allegedly. And Militech doesn’t let people like that go too easily.” 

“Then maybe, get this—maybe we should leave him alone.” 

“But what better way is there to avoid being caught by Militech than to eliminate them completely?” 

“I feel like you’re missing my point.”

“Are you coming with me or not? Because Veritas and I are going to look for this guy with or without you.” 

Orion relented, and soon he found himself back on the winding streets of Paksa-Grazie with Megatron and Veritas beside him. Sketch had wanted to come along as well, but if Sketch had come Starbright would’ve had to come, and that was too many people for an outing where they were trying to keep a low profile. Megatron put his hair up and wore a medical mask over the bottom half of his face in a half-hearted attempt to conceal his identity. 

“We’re looking for a mechanic’s shop,” Veritas explained. “Black Powder Repair and Refurbishment.” 

“Black Powder?” Orion wondered aloud. “What do they do? Blow your car up?” 

“I think Blackpowder is his name,” Veritas said.

“You said his name was Thermite,” Megatron said. 

“I think he changed his name to avoid Militech. Does it matter? We’re here.” They’d turned onto a twisting avenue, one of many in the labyrinth that was Paksa-Grazie. It was a garage, and it looked everything like every other garage that Orion had ever seen. Dirty, busy, occupied by cars and car parts and mechanics in green jumpsuits. There was an office off to the side, and a sign on the glass door read “OPEN.” Just outside of the office, a teenage girl sat on the ground. She had hair the color and texture of straw, and her jumpsuit was tied around her waist, revealing a dirty tank top underneath. She was tinkering with what looked like an old radio. She had burns on her hands and forearms, extensive ones, pink ripples on smooth skin. 

Veritas approached her, bending down a little. “Is Blackpowder in there?” she asked.

The girl didn’t look up from the wires she was fiddling with. “No. He’s out. I can help you.”

“Can you just tell us when he gets back?” 

“What do you need.” The girl didn’t phrase it like a question. “I’m as good a mechanic as he is. Better, even.” 

“Right, well, we need him for something else. Something private. We’d like to talk business.”

“Oh.” The girl looked up. “Are you Myriad? You don’t look familiar so you’re not Romeos. He’s not interested, for the record.” 

Megatron walked over and, pulling his mask down onto his chin, asked, “What’s your name?”

“RPG,” she answered, which were clearly her initials, and not her name.

“D’you work here?”

“Live here, work here, eat here, sleep here. The works.” 

“So is Blackpowder like your d—“

“No,” RPG said, cutting Megatron off. “First of all, no, second of all, no, third of all, none of your business, fourth of all, no, and fifth of all if you want to talk to him that fucking badly I’ll leave a note at the desk for him. Sixth of all, if you don’t have any electronic devices or cars on you that are in need of immediate repair get out.” 

Veritas squatted down in front of her. “It’s my phone,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket. “The battery drops really fast and once it gets below eighty percent everything slows way down. My screen’s also coming off the back. Dunno if that’s related.”

“Give it here,” RPG said, holding out her hand. Veritas gave her the phone. RPG pushed aside the radio she’d been working on and began to eye the phone curiously. “Battery problem,” she concluded. “Through and through. I can replace it if you’d like.”

“How much is that?”

“Thirty shanix, since you’re a first time customer. Your battery’s expanded. I’ll need to replace it. Wait here.” RPG got up and walked inside. 

“There. That should buy us at least fifteen minutes to wait for Blackpowder to get back,” Veritas said.

“And if he’s not back by then?”

“We come back tomorrow.” 

But they didn’t have to wait that long. Before RPG had re-emerged from the office, a man with salt and pepper hair and wire-framed glasses came striding down the road. He was wearing a mechanic’s jumpsuit. He didn’t give the three of them a second glance before heading towards the door.

“Blackpowder,” Megatron said, reaching out and grabbing him on the shoulder. “We were just looking for you.”

Blackpowder turned around, looked Megatron up and down, seemed to recognize him, or at least recognize his intentions, and frowned. “Not interested.”

“I’m not trying to threaten you,” Megatron said gently, sincerely. “But listen to me when I say that your past will catch up to you, eventually, and that it will be her who gets caught in the crossfire.” He nodded towards the office. “ _ Thermite _ ,” he added, for good measure. 

“That  _ sounds _ like a threat,” Blackpowder remarked, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s the truth, that’s all. And you know it.”

Veritas stayed downstairs, waiting for her phone, while Megatron and Orion followed Blackpowder up to a tiny apartment above the garage. Blackpowder sat down on the end of an unmade bed, but offered Orion and Megatron nowhere to sit. Across from the bed was a cot, strewn with sheets and a coverless duvet. 

“You want her, not me,” Blackpowder said. 

“You were Militech,” Megatron pointed out. 

“She’s better than me,” Blackpowder countered. “Militech or not, she’s better. Ask anyone in Paksa-Grazie, and they’ll tell you she’s better. The fact of the matter is that no matter what she wants, she’s not safe around me. You’re right. My past will catch up with me eventually. And I don’t want her around when it does. You’ve told me your cause. If you’re not lying to me, I think it’s a good one. She can be your weapons specialist because she’s damn good at it. But you have to promise me you’ll protect her. A group is safer for her than just the two of us, but you have to make sure it stays that way.” 

Orion nodded. Having a teenager as a weapons specialist seemed wrong, but he could at the very least keep her safe, if this man thought he couldn’t. “You have our word.”  _ These are strange times.  _ They made mechanics out of weapons specialists and weapons specialists out of teenagers and parents out of revolutionaries. 

Well, maybe they would, if RPG agreed to go. “I don’t care what BP said,” she insisted, “I’m not leaving him.”

“You don’t have to move out,” Orion explained patiently. “You can stay right here. All Blackpowder is doing is offering you the chance to do work that’s not for him.”

“I understand what he’s doing,” RPG countered. “You think you know him better than me? He’s trying to get me away from him. He thinks he’s dangerous to me. He hasn’t cut that crap since we met. Well, I call bull _ shit _ . I can take care of myself, and what’s more, I take care of  _ him.  _ He has no idea how many times I’ve turned away Myriad, Romeos, Arkadia, Bluefish, every kind of asshole you can think of. I protect him. He doesn’t want any part of what your scheme is and neither do I.” 

“You don’t know what our scheme is,” Megatron said. RPG was sitting across from them at the desk in the office, looking simultaneously much older and much younger than her years. 

She propped her feet up on the desk, heavy work boots shaking dust onto the cheap wood. “So. Tell me.”

“How did you come to live with a Blackpowder? He’s not your father.” 

RPG scowled. “I don’t have a father. Or a mother.” 

Megatron smiled gently. “What a coincidence. Neither do I.” He closed his eyes. “I was born in Tarn. I was born in trash. I ran away from there and ended up in the Rust Valley, which wasn’t much better.”

RPG’s expression softened. “The other kids used to pick on me. They said I didn’t have a mother, that I was pulled out of a dead cat’s corpse instead of being born. I ate garbage before Blackpowder took me in.”

“Our goal is to make sure that no one has to eat trash or live in trash or anything else like that ever again,” Megatron said. “We’re not a gang. We want to change how this city functions at its core, not just beat people up for an easy break. And if we’re successful, those who are after Blackpowder will go away for good.” 

Orion looked over at Megatron, amazed. They didn’t need a propagandist after all. His friend seemed to be doing just fine on his own. 

“Then I’ll think about it,” RPG said. “But only on one condition: you have to make sure that Blackpowder is safe whenever I’m not at the garage. If something happens to him, I walk.” 

When Orion, Megatron, and Veritas got home they found Sketch sitting at the kitchen table, her right wrist wrapped in toilet paper. She’d fallen down the stairs. As Orion and Starbright drove her to the Dead End clinic she swore up and down that she and Crash hadn’t been messing around at the top of the stairs again. The two of them fought like siblings, like Crash was the younger brother she’d never had. 

“It’s broken,” Ratchet announced after taking one look at it. “I’m going to have to prepare a cast.”

Starbright fussed over her sister, saying things like, “How do you fall down the stairs? This is exactly the reason Mom told me to look out for you.”

Sketch reached out and pinched Starbright’s nose between her thumb and forefinger and held it there. “Stop talking. My wrist is broken and you’re annoying me.”

“At least you’re left-handed,” Starbright grumbled, not bothering to pull her nose from Sketch’s grasp. “You can still forge and draw.”

During all this, Orion pulled Ratchet aside. “I need to ask you about something.”

“Is it about Starbright of Nyon?” Ratchet asked. “Because if there was one person I thought I’d never ever seen in my clinic, not in a million years, it’s her.”

“It’s not about her. It’s about you.” Megatron had prompted this conversation before he’d left. “We gotta ask at some point,” he’d said. “I was wondering if you’d join us,” Orion continued. “Become our doctor.”

“No,” Ratchet answered flatly.

“Why not?”

She turned to face him. “I can think of a million reasons, Orion. You’re one of my dearest friends, and I admire what you and your boyfriend are doing—“

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Isn’t he? Anyway, don’t interrupt me. But it’s a stupid thing. Call me a pessimist if you’d like, but it won’t succeed, and a lot of people will get hurt in the process.”

“Does that mean it isn’t worth trying?” He was parroting Megatron here, almost without thinking. Jeez. Maybe Ratchet did have a point. Not that he was going to think about that now. 

“Of course it’s worth trying. But I won’t let myself get dragged into it. I have a responsibility to this clinic, and the people it serves. A lot of the time, I’m the only one working it. I still have my job at the hospital, and I have a responsibility to the people I serve there, too. I’m already putting myself at risk by working at this place, and I just can’t go any further with it. I’ll still admit you as patients, of course I will, it would be immoral not to, but I won’t declare myself a formal part of this cause.”

“Is this about Raven Microcybernetics?” Orion asked. “Do you think you’re beholden to them because of your hands and the money?” 

“No. Not really. Well, a little bit.” Ratchet looked at her hands. The metal caps on her knuckles had little lights on them now. “They’re constantly tweaking them, upgrading them, fixing them. And if I’m ever in a position where I couldn’t access Raven and their technology, they might break. I could lose the use of my hands altogether. And then what use would I be, to you or anyone else?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The team has been established! Yay!


	19. The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

The nightclub idea was initially Roller’s, and it was initially little more than a pipe dream. But as soon as he’d mentioned it offhandedly to Sketch and Veritas, they’d taken it and run with it. Sketch took down the curtains and painted the windows over in bright colors while Veritas and RPG went hunting for lights and sound equipment. RPG hadn’t quite settled into life amongst their group quite yet. Maybe it was because she didn’t live with them, but neither did Roller, Springarm, Wheelarch, or Veritas. RPG stood apart from the others for some vague reasons Orion couldn’t put his finger on. As the weeks of setup went by, however, she seemed to grow fond of Veritas, and the two often talked tech together. She’d even told Veritas her real name. 

“So, RPG huh?” Veritas said. The two were installing a disco ball in the ceiling while Orion budgeted for the floor. “What’s that stand for?”

“Rhodochrosite of Paksa-Grazie,” RPG replied. “Kind of a mouthful, so: RPG.” 

“So your name isn’t Rocket-Propelled Grenade?”

“No.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that you build weapons?”

RPG gave her a sly smile. “No.” 

“We need drinks,” Roller said one day. “We’ve got the counter turned into a bar, but we have nothing to serve, and no one to serve it.” 

“I can get Kup in for a few nights,” Crash said. “She’s starting to warm up to you guys, ‘specially since you’ve been housing me all these months. But she probably won’t stay too long. She’s committed to the Pinhook. It’s like her baby.”

“I thought you were her baby,” Roller commented.

“Shut up.” 

Kup agreed. For the first two weekends that the club would be open, she’d bartend. Veritas and RPG had made good progress on the lights and sound, and Sketch and Starbright turned out to be an advertising force to be reckoned with when they weren’t bickering, but they still had no DJ.

“I can DJ,” Wheelarch offered.

“You will  _ not _ ,” Roller, Springarm, and Orion all said in unison.

“Who was the DJ at The Neon Underground, Sketch?” Megatron asked. “Maybe we can steal them.”

Sketch was hanging up posters from her room around the bottom floor. She’d drawn some of them herself. “It varied from week to week,” she said. “There was Ruby, there was Blaster, there was Stereo, there was Mach, the list goes on.”

“Maybe we could get Jazz to DJ for us,” Wheelarch suggested. “That’d be awesome.”

“And expensive. We’re trying to make more money than we lose, here,” Megatron reminded him. “Sketch, can you or Veritas look for one of the DJs you listed? Find the one who’s the least expensive.” 

“Hey, if I DJ’d it’d be free,” Wheelarch said.

“If you DJ’d, nobody would come,” Springarm said. 

A man named Blaster ended up agreeing to DJ. Sketch and Veritas seemed to know him quite well, and he seemed okay enough. Maybe not a permanent solution, but a good enough one for now. With the lights and sound system set up and a DJ and a bartender procured, it was time for opening night. 

It was a hot, dry night in July when what Sketch had decided to call “The Urban Jungle” opened its doors. Her and Starbright’s ad campaign had worked. There was a line all the way down the block. Orion sat in the back of the room, watching as people filed in after being okayed to enter by Roller. Spotlights swept over the floor and reflected off the mirrors and posters Sketch had hung up, and soon the dance floor was packed, the lights and sounds bouncing off of the writhing mass of bodies. Orion had never been much of one for dancing. Even when he was younger he only attended The Neon Underground to hang out with Roller, Springarm, and Wheelarch, or occasionally (very occasionally) find a one night stand. But those days were long behind him, and he was content to watch RPG laugh boisterously as she, Veritas, Crash, and Sketch spiraled around the room together. Sketch caught Veritas around the waist, and the two spun away, disappearing into the crowd. 

Outside of their little gang, there were a few people Orion recognized. There was Shuffle, who used to bartend at The Neon Underground when Orion went there, there was Vax, whom he’d arrested once, years ago, and there was Chess, whom he’d known during training. Chess seemed to be doing well, at least. Last he’d heard she wasn’t a cop anymore. According to Springarm, she’d quit to “pursue her dream of writing self-help books.”  _ Power to her _ , he thought. He knew he should go up to them, all of them, and ask them how they were doing. They must be moderately okay if they were here. But he didn’t move. He just sat there, as if in a trance. 

He was still in a trance when Megatron came over and sat down next to him. 

“You okay?” he asked. He had to yell to be heard over the blaring music.

Orion shook his head quickly, as if he could shake his thoughts into place. “Yeah. Fine. Just not much for parties.”

“It is loud in here,” Megatron agreed. “But everyone seems to be having a good time. According to Roller we’re making good money on drink sales and entry fees.” 

Orion nodded. “That’s good.” It was really hot inside. He was sweating, even though they’d set up freestanding fans. The music had changed from the standard dance beat of a nightclub to something with a little more edge to it. It still had a deep-set drumbeat, but it was laced with guitar and violin rather than synths.

_ It doesn’t matter why we’re known _ , the vocalist sang in a rough, countertenor voice.  _ We’re just known.  _

They sat in silence for a long moment before Megatron said, “D’you wanna go outside? It’ll be cooler and quieter out there.”

“Sure.”

“I was thinking we could go to the roof. You haven’t been, have you?” 

Orion hadn’t, though he knew Megatron had. He’d heard him crawl out of the window and onto the fire escape late at night, nights when the hot wind blew in from the desert. The air conditioning was finicky, especially upstairs, and there had been a few nights in the past couple of months when it had gone out. So Orion didn’t blame Megatron for his need to escape. But he’d never joined him, and Megatron had never offered. At least until now.

And so the two climbed the steep stairs to the top floor, where the A/C rattled within the soft blue walls, exited the building onto the fire escape, and then clambered up onto the roof. The night was clear and surprisingly cool after the heat of the day, and the stars flowed faintly above them. It reminded him a little of the night of their first heist on that Militech warehouse under the overpass and riding in the back of rusty pickup, the overwhelming weight of what he’d just done pressing down onto his chest. 

The two of them sat on the edge of the roof, their feet dangling over the street below, and didn’t say anything for a long, long time. Megatron eventually took off his shirt and heaved a deep sigh. Orion had seen him shirtless before, though not for any extended period of time. His torso was littered with scars, from little scratches that barely marred the skin to valleys that cut long and deep. Orion forced himself not to stare. 

“I think we should come up with a name for ourselves,” Megatron finally said. “Something catchy like ‘The Myriad.’ It’d improve our branding.”

“I am the worst person to come up with something like that,” Orion told him. “You remember my suggestion for the name of the club?”

“ _ Groove Inches _ ,” Megatron reminisced. “Awful name.”

“ _ Garbage  _ name.” 

“Still, give it your best shot.”

Orion thought for a moment. “The Ascensionists,” he finally said. “Because our goal is to help people who’re at the bottom of society ascend, I guess.” He thought for a moment. “Does that sound too evil? Like it kind of sounds like a group of supervillains.”

“I was thinking maybe Ascenti _ cons _ , though that sounds even more evil, I think.” Megatron frowned, screwing his face together. “What about the  _ De _ scentionists. Because our goal is to make the corporations descend from their place at the top of our society.”

“I like that better,” Orion agreed. “Where’d you get the ‘Cons’ suffix from? Does that mean something?”

Megatron shrugged. “I just thought it sounded cool. How about Descenticons? That sounds pretty cool.”

“Sure. I guess it’s alright. You should run ‍it by Starbright, though. She knows about this stuff.”

“Who would’ve thought that years in the film industry would make you an expert in marketing?”

“She does seem to have a talent. Where is she right now, by the way?” Orion asked. “She can’t go down there or else she’ll be recognized for sure.” Starbright had been declared missing some time ago, and she wasn’t eager to be found. 

“She’s hiding in her room,” Megatron said. “Apparently she doesn’t like parties that much either.”

“I mean, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all, and she’s probably been to far too many.” Over the past two months since Starbright arrived, she’d proved herself to be more than he expected. She was clever and fierce, but surprisingly introverted for an actress. She was skeptical of the cause, but rarely skeptical of Sketch’s belief in it. 

“Yeah,” Megatron agreed. Then he laughed. “You know, I saw my ex down there.”

“You what.” Orion didn’t know what to make of that. He hadn’t really considered the prospect of Megatron having exes, though he must have them, because he was a handsome guy and he wasn’t seeing anyone now. 

“Yeah. Blowout. Nasty piece of work I knew from the Victory Pit. We’d beat the shit out of each other and then he’d fuck me in the showers afterward. It was kind of bonkers.” 

The frankness of Megatron’s language took him aback. “What’s it like seeing him again?”

“I mean, we didn’t split up on the best of terms, but. I don’t really care. I don’t care about him. I’ve moved on to bigger and better things.”

Orion counted himself lucky that none of his exes were downstairs. He’d slept with Shuffle once, but outside of that they were just barely acquaintances. And of course, there was the time he’d made out with Wheelarch while drunk. That had been one hell of an evening. But he’d only ever had two real exes: Elita, who last he’d heard was working R&D for Militech, and Dion, who’d left the city or possibly dropped off the face of the planet.  _ And Shockwave _ , a voice in his head whispered. No. Shockwave didn’t count. They’d never gone on a date. They’d never kissed. They’d never slept together. They were just friends, that was all. And that was all they’d ever be. 

Orion closed his eyes. Despite the awkwardness of the party situation, he felt comfortable up here with Megatron. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend, and something overcame him. Something strange and tingly that started in his wrists and raced upwards towards his chest and wrapped around his heart, which quickened its pace. And then he did something impulsive. He used to almost never do impulsive things, but then he let Megatron go, and then he got a smoothie with Megatron, and then he broke into a high-security campus with Megatron, and then he joined Megatron’s revolution. He was getting used to impulsiveness. It felt right in a way that sitting around and waiting for the right choice to make itself explicitly apparent didn’t. 

Orion kissed Megatron. He wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, his fingers sticking to his skin with cool sweat, and pulled him in. He closed his eyes again as Megatron’s lips softened against his. His mouth was gentle, tender, and delightfully cool against Orion’s, contrasting against the dry heat of the summer night. 

And then abruptly Megatron pulled away, and Orion opened his eyes to find him staring back at him with something like panic written across his face.  _ No, no, no, no, no.  _ He’d miscalculated. “I’m sorry,” Orion blurted out.

“No,” Megatron said, voice cracking slightly. “It’s just that I—“

“I just thought—I’m sorry—you were  _ flirting _ ,” Orion tried to explain. “I thought, anyway, I just misread—“

“You didn’t misread anything!” Megatron exclaimed, waving his hands between them. “I was flirting with you. I’m sorry. I was—I  _ am  _ genuinely interested. I am! You’re handsome and smart and brave and kind, and you’d be a perfect partner, I think, it’s just that. We’re the leaders of this whole thing.”

“The leaders?”

“Yes, and I just  _ can’t  _ have a romantic relationship right now, especially not with you. I’m crazy about you, I am, but. But. How do I phrase this?” Megatron, the poet, who’d smooth-talked his way out of Orion arresting him  _ twice,  _ looked lost for words. He smiled, but it was a frazzled attempt at hiding some other expression. “We’re doing something so important here. And I can’t distract myself, I can’t distract  _ us _ . Everything is so crazy right now, and I can’t have something else on my plate. I can’t worry about you more than I already do.”

_ He worries about me?  _ Megatron seemed sincere. “I understand,” Orion said, though he didn’t, not fully. 

“When this is all over, we can talk. We can do more than talk, actually. But for now, no. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Orion paused for a moment. “Do you really think we’ll succeed?” He’d asked this question before, and Megatron’s answer had always been the same:  _ Does it matter?  _ This time, though, he followed it up with a different question, “And what will happen if we fail?”

“Best case scenario? We have to run away. Out of the city.”

“Into the desert?” 

“Yeah.”

Orion twisted around so that he was facing east, towards the desert instead of west towards the sea. He couldn’t see it from here, too many tall buildings in the way. 

“It’d be tough, but we’d make it,” Megatron continued. “We’d survive. Life may even be better for us out there. We could go to the wind farm. They’d give us work and housing. There are also rumors of groups living out in the desert. Nomads. I admire them. That’s commitment.”

A brief whirlwind of a thought gripped Orion for a moment.  _ Run away right now. Spectrum did it. You could too. Bring him with you. Then you could be together.  _ But he didn’t give voice to it. “And the worst case scenario?” he asked instead. 

“We’d die. Shot. Or executed. Or given to Thyranotos for their experiments like Shockwave or Spectrum. Or put in jail for the rest of forever. I’m gonna admit that those are more likely than us successfully escaping.”

“But this is important enough to take that risk,” Orion said, hopefully sounding more sure than he felt. 

“Of course.” 

A few moments later Megatron stood up and put his shirt back on. “I’m going in. It’s late, the party’s winding down, and last call is soon. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Yeah. See you.” As soon as Megatron was back through the window, Orion buried his head between his knees and stayed there for a long while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said slow burn, I meant slow fucking burn.


	20. Living Is Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! Slipped my mind yesterday. Anyway! Have a beach episode!
> 
> Warnings for discussions of parental abuse this chapter.

The main thing that everyone discovered about RPG in the weeks since her hiring was that she was obsessed with fire. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Crash screeched at her, whacking at the latest fire with a wet rag. “Why does this keep happening?!”

It kept happening because RPG kept a collection of lighters in her toolbox. Crash found them when he was digging through it looking for a screwdriver. He pulled out three of them and started to juggle. 

“I didn’t know you could juggle,” Orion commented as he watched him, barely registering the items he’d found. 

“Of course he can juggle,” Megatron commented from his seat at the counter-turned-bar. “The Myriad is a circus and everyone in it is a clown.” 

“Yourself included, I assume, Megsy,” Crash commented. 

“Of course. I met a lot of insufferable people while I was in the Myriad. But they also met me.” 

On a later day, while Megatron and RPG scrubbed scorch marks off of the stove, Megatron asked her, “Is something wrong?”

“Why do you ask that?” RPG replied.

“You’re starting more fires than usual.”

“Am I?” RPG wiped the sweat off of her forehead. Even with the A/C going full blast, the kitchen was still sweltering. It may as well have been the fifth circle of Hell. “I guess it’s the heat.”

Crash, scrubbing scorch marks off of the kitchen walls, asked, “So your solution to August heat is to start setting fires?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Crash,” Orion said at the same time that RPG said, “I start fires as the solution to all of my problems. Where do you think these burns on my hands came from?”

Veritas, who’d moved in to 211 Monticello Avenue shortly after the opening of The Urban Jungle, had taken to rubbing aloe over RPG’s arms and hands. “You should take better care of this,” she’d said once. “They might’ve healed more completely by now if you had.” 

“They’re third degree,” RPG had replied. “Blackpowder told me they’ll never heal.”

“Maybe not totally, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be less painful for you.” Veritas had a motherly streak that had surprised Orion. She’d tried to convince RPG to see Ratchet about her burns, both old and new, but hadn’t succeeded. “I don’t trust doctors,” RPG had said. 

“I think you’re cooped up,” Megatron observed, back in the moment. “You’re back and forth between here and Blackpowder’s place, and you don’t go anywhere else. Besides, you’re what—fifteen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Right. You’re probably being struck by wanderlust. You need a change of scenery. In fact,” Megatron looked around the room, “I think we all do.” 

And so a beach trip was scheduled. It had been a long while since Orion had been to the beach, despite its accessibility—he rarely took days off—and some of their number had never been. By the time they reached Nags Head beach at eleven in the morning, the sun was already beating down. RPG had brought Blackpowder along with her, but she abandoned his side as soon as she set foot on the sand, sprinting full-tilt towards the water. She wasn’t even wearing a swimsuit.

Orion tapped Blackpowder’s arm and asked, “Does she do this often?”

“Well, she’s never seen the ocean up close before. She’s barely left Paksa-Grazie before, so I can’t blame her for going a little wild,” Blackpowder explained. “Where do you wanna set up the chairs and towels?” 

The beach was crowded. There were no beaches in Cybertron that were free to visit, but this one was one of the cheaper, and thus more populated ones. Still, they found a vacant spot for their group easily enough. Orion wasn’t really one for swimming or anything, so he just sat in a beach chair. RPG, on the other hand, was thrilled to be in the water. At one point, she came running up to Blackpowder with a dead jellyfish, clear and wet and floppy in her hand. “Isn’t it cool?” she exclaimed, holding it out for him to see. 

Crash messed around in the water as well. “I used to surf,” he told everyone. “When I was a teenager. But I had to sell my board to buy food one week. Damn shame.”

“Somehow you being a surfer is the least surprising thing in the world,” Sketch commented. She and Veritas took to scavenging the sand for seashells. Orion watched them from a distance, digging in the sand with their toes and washing off their findings in the water, smiling and laughing together. 

Megatron pushed up his sunglasses and watched Orion watching them for a moment before saying, “They’re cute together.”

“D’you think they’re actually dating yet?” Orion asked. They weren’t exactly public people when it came to their personal relationships.

“Nah. But they will be soon enough.” 

Roller, Springarm, and Wheelarch began building a sandcastle together. Roller sculpted a moat around the middle structure, something Springarm constructed using a child’s toy bucket left half-buried in the sand. Wheelarch dribbled water over the top, giving it a half-melted look. “It’s an ice castle,” he announced. 

Orion, Megatron, and Starbright stayed on the sand. Megatron wrote and Starbright read while Orion watched the others from afar. He felt at peace. He couldn’t believe it had already been almost a year since he and Megatron met. In that time he’d done so much: joined a revolution, opened a nightclub, committed more crimes than he’d ever imagined he would in a million years, and fallen in love. Twice. On the beach, though, it all seemed distant.  _ No, not distant. Normal.  _ As if this was the life he’d set out to live from the start. Maybe it was, in its own way. 

Starbright looked up from what she was reading. She’d cut her hair and dyed it a soft lavender color since joining them, and had traded her suits for cargo shorts and button-ups, and her makeup for a more fresh-faced look. She leaned over Megatron’s composition notebook. “What’re you writing? Is that your next speech on the necessity of the glorious revolution?”

“It’s poetry, actually,“ Megatron answered seriously. 

“Oh.” That seemed to surprise Starbright. “I didn’t know you wrote.”

“Yeah. Pretty often, these days.”

“Can I hear?”

“In the black velvet of a swelling evening/a good woman gets her ankle caught in a/silver bear trap, rupturing her Achilles’ tendon,/spraying blood across the concrete./She will lose her foot. And it will not be her fault,” Megatron read. 

“Dark,” Orion commented, though, he realized, not that much darker than Megatron’s other work.

“I like it,” Starbright said firmly before lapsing into silence. She opened her book again, then closed it. It was  _ The Awakening  _ by Kate Chopin. “I used to write poetry too, y’know. I read it voraciously when I was a kid.”

“Who was your favorite?” Megatron asked. 

“Carolyn Forché,” Starbright answered. An older poet, then, or someone from the east coast. Someone who was still using the old naming conventions. He’d never heard of this Carolyn Forché person. “Though I also read a lot of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I just thought they were so romantic.” Starbright smiled softly at that. 

“Do you still write?” Orion asked.

“Occasionally. Now and then. I haven’t really had much cause to. I never really  _ chose  _ to write poetry, it just sort of happened to me. I’d get a line or two in my head and then it’d all just come out. But things have been... _ different  _ since I became an actress. If I wasn’t filming, I was on the press junket. I never had any time to myself. And everything in Paraíso is so sterilized. Poetry is better when it’s dirty.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Megatron said. 

“Well, now that you’re not acting anymore, you could start writing again,” Orion suggested. 

“I could. I have, actually. A little, just one, since coming here. It’s a sonnet.” Starbright pulled out a torn-out sheet of paper from the back of her book. Well, not a real sonnet, I’m no good with rhymes, but. It has fourteen lines.” She began to read, 

“I think I wanted to apologize to you, for

some unknown slight of mine, like 

forgetting to take the ravioli out of the fridge, or 

not making my bed one morning. You threw 

a mug at my head and screamed and screamed 

until you lost your voice and you had to write,

_ Take care of your sister _ instead of saying it.

I think I wanted to apologize to you for not following

your every instruction to the letter. Holding your

clammy hand as you slipped off the edge of some

unknown precipice. I could not follow you and ask:

_ What do I do now? _ ” 

Starbright unceremoniously folded the paper up and tucked it back into the back of  _ The Awakening.  _ “I thought about being a screenwriter there for a while,” she said. “I’d become convinced that writing was my true calling, and I was sick of just saying someone else’s words all the time. But my agent talked me off of that ledge real fast.”

“Was it a ledge?” Megatron asked.

“I don’t know. He sure acted like it was.” 

Megatron pulled out his phone and typed something. A moment later, Orion’s phone buzzed. On it was a text message from Megatron.  _ She’s good. Maybe she should be our propagandist. _

_ Do we need one? You’re charismatic,  _ Orion texted back.

_ I think we do. It can be a joint effort. Besides, I may be good with words, but I’m not the publicist she is.  _

_ Sure. We’ll bring it up when we get back to 211.  _

RPG and Blackpowder had lent their engineering expertise to the sandcastle crew. RPG was constructing walls around Roller’s moat, while Blackpowder filled it with water. Eventually, Sketch, Crash, and Veritas joined in as well, decorating the ever-growing body of the castle with rocks and shells and seaweed. Starbright finished her book, and began to watch the others alongside Orion. Her smile was distant and soft, and though her sunglasses hid her eyes, he could tell she was watching Sketch.

Eventually, Springarm stood behind the castle, facing the sea, and announced, “Done!” 

Sketch grabbed her phone from Starbright’s bag and began to take pictures of it from more angles than Orion had thought possible. Then she called over, “Stella, take a picture of us with the castle!” 

Starbright got up and took Sketch’s phone from her. “Megs, Orion, get in here.”

“What?” Orion said. “We didn’t do anything.”

“You’re part of this group,” Sketch said. “You’re the  _ leaders _ . Be in the picture!” 

The group crowded around the sandcastle. Wheelarch stood up to his ankles in the moat, while everyone else circled the outer wall. Crash grabbed Sketch and put her in a headlock, and Blackpowder swung RPG up onto his shoulders. Springarm and Roller were holding hands, and everyone was smiling, the sun shining down on them, setting the sand and water aglow in golden light. Megatron put his arm around Orion’s shoulder and for once, life felt easy. Maybe Shockwave was gone, and with them his old life, and maybe they wouldn’t succeed in their goals, and maybe he and Megatron would never get to be together, but in that moment, none of it mattered. He had a family here, of sorts, one he cared for. 

Starbright snapped the picture. “Here you go, Little Sunflower.” She handed Sketch her phone back.

“You should get in here,” Blackpowder offered. “Here, let me take one with you in it.” He set RPG down off his shoulders and took a second picture, this time with Starbright in it. 

Orion could get used to this. Life being easy. 


	21. Precipice

And, over the course of the coming year, Orion did get used to it. He became content. Contentment was a dangerous thing, he knew, because it led to complacency, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t been truly content in, well, ever. Even when he was a police officer and he was fine with being a police officer, he still hadn’t been this content. He was even content with his and Megatron’s relationship status. He was fine with loving Megatron from, well, not from afar, because they were very close together all of the time. Starbright had joked that they were surgically attached. But the fact remained that he and Megatron were in love and not dating, and that was fine. It was its own kind of intimacy, the together-but-not situation they were in, one that had its own rewards, and, ultimately, brought them closer together. 

Even their sparring had dropped its facade of distance. They’d ditched their quarterstaffs for blunted knives, which created a new sense of closeness, both physically and not. They still hadn’t sparred empty-handed, though that was apparently the most common kind of fighting Megatron had done in the Victory Pit. They had begun sparring even when they didn’t have an argument they needed to resolve, though their arguments were still frequent. 

This current one was about propaganda. Megatron wanted to release a statement—a more public statement, about their cause. His knife clinked off of Orion’s. “It’s been almost two years, Orion,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s time more people knew about us?” 

“I think what you’re suggesting is dangerous,” Orion replied. “And I think that recruitment is going well without it. The whole city? Really?”

“Yes,  _ really _ .” Megatron swiped at Orion’s chest. Orion dodged backwards. “That’s the next phase! Getting everyone in on it!”

“I thought you said it would be years before that happened. What if the corporations come after us? We don’t have the means to deal with them yet.” Orion stepped backwards and held his knife in front of him in a mirror image of Megatron’s stance.

“But Starbright’s message is ready  _ now _ ,” Megatron countered. They circled each other.

“Oh, it’s already written?” Orion scoffed. “You didn’t think to run it by me first?” Megatron didn’t respond. They kept circling, about two feet apart from one another. Orion’s muscles tensed, and then he lashed his knife out at Megatron, not really paying much mind to where it hit. 

A moment later Megatron was stepping backwards, clutching his face. “Ow, shit, Orion! Remember I said not to aim for the face!” 

Orion flinched and dropped his knife onto the mat. One of the scars on Megatron’s face had reopened. “Sorry,” Orion said, approaching his friend. It wasn’t bleeding as much as the last time it’d reopened, thankfully, so no need to see Ratchet. Orion reached up and wiped the blood off of Megatron’s cheek. “Maybe we could compromise. What was your distribution plan?” 

“I didn’t really have one,” Megatron confessed. “I left that up to Starbright.” 

“Then we can control its spread. If you want your message, have it, but we control who sees it. We distribute it amongst the gangs and the lower class, first. We put it on flash drives and we give them to people.”

Megatron nodded, pulling Orion’s hand off of his face. “You know, I think we should start dancing when we argue instead of sparring.”

That surprised Orion. “Why?”

Megatron touched his face. His fingers came away stained with red. “I’m getting sick of kicking your ass.”

Orion laughed. “Ha! I think you’re getting scared I’ll actually beat you for once.”

“Not a chance,” Megatron said. “Now, d’you wanna hear what Starbright and I have put together?” 

Everyone was in the kitchen when they arrived downstairs. Crash, RPG, and Sketch were crowded around the stove, watching an object melt in a frying pan.

Megatron peered over Crash’s head. “Is that a Rubik’s Cube?”

“I wanted to see what would happen if I put it on the stove,” RPG explained. “I thought I might set it on fire, but more often than not the answer to the question of ‘What will happen if I set this thing on fire?’ is ‘It’ll be on fire.’ So I’m melting it instead.”

“Didn’t Veritas give that to you just last week to prevent exactly this kind of behavior?” Orion asked.

RPG shrugged. “I got bored with it. I solved it like ten times. Y’know, Blackpowder used to give me magnesium ribbons to keep me busy.”

“Nice try, kid,” Megatron said, ruffling her hair. “Hey Sketch, where’s Star?” 

“Fuck me if I know,” Sketch replied, still staring at the melting Rubik’s Cube. “In her room, probably.” 

As if on cue, Starbright and Veritas appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Hey Sketchy—what the fuck are you three doing,” Veritas said. “RPG, I  _ just  _ gave you that Rubik’s Cube!”

“And now I’m melting it!” RPG exclaimed, as if it were the obvious solution to a long-endured problem. 

“Starbright,” Megatron said, cracking through the ridiculous situation. “Can we show Orion the speech?”

“‘Course,” she replied. 

Sketch abandoned the melting Rubik’s Cube and slid her arm around Veritas’ waist. “Hey,” she said. The two had been dating since winter, when they’d kissed under the mistletoe that Crash had hung up trying to flirt with the woman who’d come to install space heaters upstairs. It was a sweet romance they had, Sketch and Veritas. One that everyone in their little group—the Descenticons—admired. “It’s a stupid name,” Sketch had decided when Megatron and Orion announced it. But it had stuck regardless, or maybe because, of its inherent corniness. 

“I pulled up the document,” Starbright said, holding out her tablet. “Here.”

Orion took it and read it. It wasn’t long. It was concise, and to the point, and it had a simple beauty to it. Megatron was right. Starbright was good. She was very good. As good as Megatron, even. Orion fixed a few word choice and grammar issues, then handed the tablet back to her. In spite of agreeing to be their propagandist, Starbright had initially maintained a certain quality of disbelief in their cause. There were days when she still stuck to her skepticism incredibly adamantly. But she was sounding less and less sure of it, especially when Orion overheard her debating with Sketch about the place and purpose of art in a classless society. 

“When do we film?” he asked.

It was decided that the clip would be audio-only, just so that nobody would recognize Megatron by sight in case it fell into the wrong hands. Blaster had audio recording equipment, and though he hadn’t been officially inducted into the Descenticons, he was more or less in the know. He and Veritas set up the microphone on the fold out table upstairs, and positioned Megatron in front of it. Everyone was in the room, even Springarm, Wheelarch, and Roller, all lined up against the windows to watch. They didn’t need to be there, but Megatron had wanted them to be there. So long as they kept quiet. Which, with Crash and Wheelarch there, was easier said than done. Still, everyone seemed to recognize the significance of the recording, and the mood was serious enough to reflect that.

Blaster hit the record button. “Descenticon manifesto, take one,” he said. Somehow, Orion knew that they’d only need one take. Starbright placed the tablet down in front of Megatron, and he began to read.

“My name is Megatron of Tarn. Maybe you know me, or know of me. Or maybe you don’t. I am joined by Orion Pax and Blaster of Rodion Centre, Roller, Springarm, Wheelarch, and Crash of Lower Iacon, Sketch and Stella of the Rust Valley, Veritas of Nyon, Blackpowder of Iacon Heights, and Rhodochrosite of Paksa-Grazie. We aren’t the only ones. We are the first, but we won’t be the last. If you’re hearing this, you may be wondering why. Who is Megatron, and what does he want with me? Maybe you heard about my split from the Myriad some time ago. Maybe you heard about the price Galvatron put on my head. I am here to tell you: none of that matters. If you’re hearing this, you’re probably wrapped up in gang wars or petty crime or addiction or homelessness, because you think you have no other choice. And maybe you haven’t. For your entire lives, you haven’t had any other choice. I am telling you today that you do. 

“If you look around, and you observe the world around you, the first thing you’ll see is likely to be the evidence of a crumbling society. The abandoned warehouses of the Rust Valley, the bullet-riddled bricks of Paksa-Grazie, the people sleeping on the streets of Lower Iacon. The desolation of Tarn. Even if you live in Paraíso or Iacon Heights, you can see all the ways that society has failed us. High rises stand empty while people die of heatstroke because they have no air conditioning in the summer. 

“But there is a way to fix all this. It won’t be simple, and it won’t be easy, but there is a path. Corporations: Thyranotos, Militech, InfoComp, have been controlling this city, and much of the world, for too long. The first step to creating a better society for everyone is to drive them out. Capitalism benefits only the wealthy, and they represent a class that won’t give up their power without a fight. So I say: we give them that fight. 

“Some of you are skeptical. I understand that. What I’m proposing sounds like madness. For that, I answer you with a quote from Miguel de Cervantes: ‘When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams—this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness—and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!’ 

“And maybe you can’t see life as it should be—not yet. But we can help you get there. This cannot be all there is to life: this heat and dirt and oppression. This cannot be what humanity is destined for. I cannot believe that we are so poorly made as that. These corporations and this society only continue to exist because people believe their survival to be inevitable. And it isn’t. So join us. We are the Descenticons, and it’s time for those at the top make their descent, and leave this city behind them. It’s time for us to take care of one another. It’s time to give a little more shelter, and show a little more heart. Thank you.”

Blaster hit the off button on the recording. Nobody said anything. Everyone just looked around nervously. Veritas pulled the memory card out of the audio recorder and jammed it into her laptop. A moment later, she produced a USB drive. “Here,” she said, placing it in Blaster’s sweaty palm. “Show it to your friends. Who you presumably have.” Veritas was the first to admit that they didn’t really know Blaster very well. 

Many people heard Megatron’s recording. Perhaps more people than he or any of the other Descenticons had intended. Ratchet was among them. She listened to it while setting the broken arm of a young girl named Skywarp. Her brother—she assumed he was her brother, from the way the interacted, though they didn’t look much alike—paced outside. Ratchet shook her head and clicked her tongue at the audio file.  _ Stupid idealists, the lot of them.  _ But she couldn’t help but feel inspired by Megatron’s words, a little bit of hope stirring in her chest that she didn’t know existed. 

Apparently Skywarp felt it too, because she asked, “Do you know him? The man you’re listening to.” 

“Sort of. Friend of a friend,” Ratchet replied. Then she heard a  _ zap!  _ from the lobby, and all the lights went out. 

Skywarp’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Sorry!” she exclaimed, then, “Thundercracker! What the hell is going on!”

“I didn’t mean to!” her brother called back. 

A look of worry darkened Skywarp’s face. “Please don’t tell anyone we were here. We’re sorry for breaking your lights.”

The fear in her eyes was troubling. “I won’t tell anyone,” Ratchet assured her. She was so young. Where had she and Thundercracker come from? Where were they going? 

Far, but not too far, from the Dead End Clinic, Soundwave had the recording on cassette. They weren’t allowed anything more sophisticated in CCP. Soundwave hadn’t known Megatron, but she’d known of him.  _ Orion Pax, eh?  _ she thought.  _ Megatron doesn’t keep the best of company, then.  _ Still, she liked the way he talked. He talked like he believed in something, which was more than she could say about most of the people she’d met brokering information in Paksa-Grazie or living in Lower Iacon. Most people didn’t have time for beliefs or morals. They were too worried about staying alive. 

Soundwave had been one of them. On the streets of P-G, she’d worried about four things: the survival of herself and her family, information, music, and the dumb orange tabby who’d made his home in her garage. She hoped Oracle was taking good care of him. But now, here in prison, she had nothing but time. And so she’d gotten to thinking. And it sounded like this Megatron character had done some thinking himself. She would be out in two years. If he was still alive by then, she’d find him.

In the meantime, she replaced Megatron’s recording with a Johnny Cash tape. She wasn’t normally one for country music, but prison put her in that kind of mood. She thought about the orange tabby. She’d called him Sabertooth, because it was ironic and he wouldn’t hurt a fly. That was the other thing she’d do once she got out: get a cat. Maybe even more than one. Hell, maybe she’d get a bird or two. She liked birds. But definitely a cat. She had a particular fondness for cats. 

In Lower Iacon, Cyclonus of Tetrahex placed the flash drive containing the recording on Galvatron’s desk. Cyclonus was perhaps the closest thing Galvatron had to a friend, though neither would admit it. Cyclonus was fierce, almost comically humorless, and completely unaware of exactly how stupid wearing horns on her head was, though Arcee had pointed it out several times. 

“He’s taunting me, Cyclonus, he has to be,” Galvatron said as they listened to the recording.

“Why do you assume you’re that important to him?” Arcee asked. She was sitting in the corner, whittling. She’d taken up whittling because Galvatron had once (derisively) said that she needed a hobby. 

“He mentioned me by name, Arcee,” Galvatron said. 

“Pssh. I mention you by name on the daily. That doesn’t mean I give a shit about you.”

Galvatron didn’t rise to his sister’s taunts. “It’s not Megatron I’m bothered by,” he said. “It’s who he’s got with him. Veritas, Crash, Sketch, all ours, all vanished, only to reappear at his side. We could lose our foothold to his idiotic cause.” 

“What do you want to do about it?” Cyclonus asked, her face betraying no partiality. 

“I want to scrub Megatron and his  _ friends  _ off the face of the planet. I was content to ignore him when he was alone, but I can’t tolerate him undermining me in this way.” 

Arcee carved an enormous chunk of wood off. It skittered across the floor. 

Before Ratchet or Soundwave or Galvatron heard Megatron’s recording, however, someone else heard it. Blaster had given it to a friend of his, Stereo, who had given it to a friend of hers, who had mailed it across town, all the way to Paraíso, where it had dropped in the lap of someone unexpected. 

“I like this guy,” she remarked aloud to herself as she listened. She was alone in her bedroom, the speech playing through the highest-quality headphones money could buy. She could never risk going to meet Megatron and his Descenticons. She was too high-profile for that. Though, if she understood correctly, Starbright of Nyon had taken that risk. “Stella of the Rust Valley” couldn’t fool her. She wanted to meet Megatron, very badly. She knew things weren’t right in this city, even if she’d ended up on top of things in the end. She couldn’t meet Megatron, and she couldn’t join his cause. But she could donate to him. Covertly, of course, though that wouldn’t be a problem for her. 

She paused the recording and picked up her phone. “Perceptor? I need a favor. Meet me tomorrow? Usual place.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines from Megatron/Starbright's speech were lifted out of Black Sails, which is a TV show so good it'll ruin all other TV shows for you if you watch it.


	22. The Long Way Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing a few updates! I've been on vacation with my family. I also turned twenty! Hooray /s

Two weeks later, on the evening of the autumn equinox, Orion got a call from an unknown number. It was a warm afternoon, and he sat at the bar downstairs drinking a cherry soda when his phone buzzed. On a whim, he picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Orion Pax?” the voice asked. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. 

“It is.”

“You probably don’t remember me, but you helped me once. You and your friend Ratchet. And I’ve kind of kept an eye on her so since we met? Just to make sure nothing happened to her. It’s dangerous in the Dead End these days.” They trailed off, sighing. “So I thought you’d want to know that she was arrested. The police came and they took her and another doctor away and then they boarded up the place.”

Orion almost dropped the phone in shock. “They  _ what _ ?”

“For operating a non-licensed clinic,” the person said. “I just thought you’d want to know.” And then they hung up. 

Orion, Megatron, and Roller arrived at Ratchet’s clinic to find that what the anonymous caller had said was true. Orion had a feeling that he knew who it was, but it wasn’t important. The clinic was shuttered, tarps hung over its windows, “CLOSED, BY ORDER OF THE CPD,” read the sign on the door. The three of them stood in front of the clinic in silence. 

“Everything sucks,” Roller finally said.

“And not just for us,” Orion agreed. 

The Dead End clinic had been a place where people from all over the city came to get medical care for cheap, or even free of charge. And with it closed, people would likely die. No. People would definitely die. Orion, still lost in thought, didn’t notice that Megatron was pulling the planks of wood off of one of the windows until Roller asked, “What’re you doing, dude?”

“Is that some kinda trick question?” Megatron replied. “I’m breaking and entering.” 

“What for?” Roller asked.

“See if we can find anything. Looters’ll smash and grab it all anyway if they haven’t already.” 

“We’re going to talk to Ratchet after this, though,” Orion said, climbing through the window after Megatron. “We need to find out how this happened.” 

“Of course,” Megatron agreed.

Orion had never seen the clinic in such disarray. It had never been the neatest building in the world—Ratchet rarely had time to clean—but this was a whole other level. The front desk was tipped over, filing cabinets were left hanging open, their contents all over the floor, and bookshelves had been peeled back from the wall. The back room, the actual examination room, hadn’t fared any better. The examining table was cut open, foam spilling out. The place had been practically turned upside down.

“Wow,” Roller remarked. “What happened here?” 

“They were looking for something,” Orion immediately concluded. “The police didn’t just come here to arrest Ratchet and shut down the clinic, they came here to find something specific.”

“Let’s look around,” Megatron suggested. “Maybe we can find something they didn’t.” 

Poking around the back room returned very little in the way of evidence. It did return a number of first aid supplies and certain generic medications, which Megatron immediately pocketed. Searching the front room proved to be more fruitful. Sifting through the files that had been pulled out of the filing cabinet and scattered across the floor, Roller said, “I found Ratchet’s patient records. Maybe they were looking for some _ one  _ and not some _ thing _ .”

Considering that anything even remotely valuable in Ratchet’s clinic remained untouched, Roller’s theory seemed plausible. The patient records, unfortunately, were disorganized, and bare-bones. They rarely contained anything more than a name and what the person was treated for. 

“These are the most recent records,” Roller said, holding up a sheet of paper. “From the past month. About two weeks ago, there’s a patient listed without a name.”

“Oh?” Orion leaned over. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. “What were they treated for?”

“Broken arm,” Roller replied.

_ Huh. Seems innocuous enough.  _ “Are there any other patients listed without names?”

“Nope. Broken arm is the only one.”

“Hey,” Megatron said, calling them over. He hadn’t joined in their search of the patient records. “Look at this.” He pointed to the wall, near the light switch. “Scorch marks. In fact, this whole switch is busted.”

“Was RPG in here in the last month?” Roller asked, half-joking.

Orion shook his head. “She refuses to come within five hundred feet of any doctor’s office, including this one.” He stood up and examined the broken switch, then turned back to Roller. “Can you check the files for any repair costs? This doesn’t seem like something the police did.”

After a few minutes of searching, Roller said, “Here. An invoice for electrical repairs, from around two weeks ago. Looks like they were pretty extensive.” 

“What happened here?” Megatron murmured, still staring pensively at the broken light switch, as if looking at it for a long enough time would make it start talking. 

“Well, we could ask Ratchet,” Orion suggested. 

Orion had never previously appreciated exactly how hard getting in to visit someone in Cybertronian Central was. Before, he could just flash his badge and he’d be right in, no questions asked. But now it was a whole process, with background checks and rude guards and enough paperwork to make even Prowl’s head explode. Speaking of Prowl, there was no sign of him in CCP. Orion hadn’t seen his old friend since he quit the force. Finally, however, he and Roller found themselves sitting across from Ratchet, who was wearing CCP blues and handcuffs around her wrists.

“So,” she said, her tone deadpan. “You heard.”

“We went to the clinic,” Orion said.

“Ah.”

“It looked like shit.”

“It always looks like shit,” Ratchet said. “But I know what you mean.” She cast her gaze downward at her hands. “Years. It was  _ years  _ of work, Orion. Maintaining the building, splitting my time between there and the hospital, buying supplies with my own money, just trying to keep the  _ doors open _ —“ She sighed. “It was worth it. But it’s gone now.”

Orion took hold of Ratchet’s hand. He slid his thumb over the metal of her cybernetics. “What happened?” he asked.

Ratchet didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “I need a pencil and a pad of paper.” 

She got them, and she hurriedly began to scrawl something in her almost illegible doctor’s handwriting. She held up the paper. “ _ It wasn’t just police _ ,” it read. She wrote some more. “ _ It was also mercenaries. well-armed. _ ”

“Well that’s not good,” Roller commented. 

Ratchet continued to write, rapidly burning through the pad of paper. “ _ They were looking for someone. multiple people. _ ”

“Do you know who?” Orion asked.

“ _ I have a vague idea. I promised them I wouldn’t tell anyone about them. _ ” 

Orion nodded. “I understand.”

“ _The mercenaries said if I didn't give them information, they’d arrest me._ _I don't think I have as much info as they thought I did._ ” Then Ratchet paused, thinking for a moment. “ _I think they were thyranotos_.”

“ _ What?! _ ” Orion exclaimed, a little too loudly. 

“ _ Shh! _ ” Ratchet hushed him.

“That’s bad news,” Roller whispered.

It had been a long while since Orion had heard Thyranotos’ name in any significant context. It would be too soon if he never heard their name again. “What made you think that?”

_ “Just a hunch. who they were looking for. what they described.”  _

“What did they describe?” Roller asked, still whispering.

“ _ They may be looking for the genetic engineering subjects they turned loose.” _ Ratchet paused again. “ _ In fact, I'm almost certain of it. _ ”

And that was that on that. 

Megatron was buzzing when they told him what they’d learned—both with excitement and nervousness. He clutched onto Orion’s wrist and pulled him down the street. “We have to find them,” he insisted. “Shockwave’s DNAgents. If Thyranotos is looking for them, they could be in a lot of danger.”

“Will they be any safer with us?” Orion wondered. 

“Maybe! We have to at least  _ try. _ ”

“Some of them are children, Megatron,” Roller put in. “I only met the four who were adults, but there are children out there with powers. And Thyranotos is probably looking for them, too.” 

Orion shook his head. “No more Council to stop them from taking them back and picking right back up where they left off.” 

“Which is why we have to find them,” Megatron repeated. “They’re not safe out there on their own.”

Megatron may have been right, but Orion knew he had an ulterior motive. People with superpowers in all but name would be invaluable for the revolution, both because of their powers and because of where those powers came from. They’d been the victims of some of their society’s most heinous acts, and their support would be a propaganda force to be reckoned with.

“We need a new doctor first,” Orion said, changing the subject. “Hardly anybody in our group is Trauma Team ranked, and we get hurt on the regular.”

“Then we find a doctor!” Megatron exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

“Easier said than done,” Roller commented. Medical education was expensive, and as such, doctors were rare, especially ones willing to lend their services pro-bono. 

“And I was thinking we could re-establish the clinic,” Orion continued. “People will die without the medical care Ratchet and the clinic provided. We need to find a way to give that to them.”

That seemed to calm Megatron down a little, though it’d likely be a sparring match later. “You’re right,” he said. “That’s a good idea.” 

In spite of everything, within two weeks, they had a doctor. Sort of. Almost. They had  _ a  _ doctor, but. He wasn’t exactly what Orion had been expecting. 

“I don’t like him,” Orion insisted, bracing his dulled knife against Megatron’s. 

“You don’t like him because he’s not Ratchet,” Megatron retorted, finally pulling back to come at Orion from a different angle. 

_ Well, yes, but— _ “I don’t like him because he’s not a real doctor.”

“You think we can find a real doctor here? In Lower Iacon? For cheap? We’re lucky we found this guy at all. Besides, RPG likes him.”

“RPG likes him  _ because  _ he’s not a real fucking doctor!” Orion lunged at Megatron, bearing down on him with his knife. Megatron sidestepped him easily. “He didn’t even ask about her burns when he saw them! He also lets her use his scalpels as throwing knives.” 

“That’s cute!” Megatron protested. “That’s cute, isn’t it?”

Orion laughed sardonically. “It’s not! She could hurt herself.” Blackpowder hadn’t informed them of all of RPG’s quirks when they’d hired her, though he supposed she was no less stable than any other weapons expert he’d encountered. It was only off-putting in particular because of her age. If they were ever in a situation where it was possible, he’d find her a therapist. 

“Then we talk to him about that,” Megatron said. “And if you want to go looking for another doctor feel free. But I don’t think we’ll find anyone better than him.” He dropped his knife to his side. “If it makes you feel any better, this’ll only be temporary. What’s her sentence again?”

“Five years,” Orion answered. It seemed unusually long, for such a harmless crime. He knew it wasn’t a crime at all, of course, but with the Council gone, the laws were free to be warped by the corporations as they saw fit. And free medicine undermined Trauma Team International’s enterprise. He put his knife down on the table. More and more often, his and Megatron’s sparring matches would end like this, with no clear winner of either the match or the argument. 

Megatron put his knife down too and gave a long whistle. “That’s a long time. But she’ll be out again.” 

Knock Out was in the kitchen when Orion and Megatron got downstairs. He could cook, at least. “Better than you,” Crash had teased, though Crash didn’t much care for Knock Out either. He was a man of small stature, and moderately handsome, with scarlet hair he wore a little too long. He was ex-Myriad, which was why Crash and Sketch didn’t like him, and he’d been kicked out after selling the organs of dead members on the sly and not splitting the profits with Galvatron. Which was why Veritas and Starbright didn’t like him. 

“I have compromised my morality in so many fucking ways for this stupid revolution,” Starbright had exclaimed upon finding out. “But  _ selling organs? Really? _ ” 

Yes, really. Orion was dead to the concept by now. Sure. Selling dead people’s organs. Why not. It’s not like they needed them anyhow. And given the sorry state of medicine in Cybertron, organs willingly donated were hard to come by. He missed Ratchet. He visited her every other week, but it wasn’t the same. She looked more tired than he’d ever seen her. 

In the meantime, Megatron kept up his search for the DNAgents. Veritas had, somewhat surprisingly, agreed to help. “If I can help keep an eye on those people and make sure they don’t go back to Thyranotos, I’m game,” she’d said. At first, all they’d had were four names that Roller had provided: Skids, Trailbreaker, Glitch (or Damus), and Windcharger. Veritas had managed to track down the Council’s records of what they’d found after their initial raid, but that didn’t provide too much information. The DNAgents has been assigned alphanumeric designations while imprisoned by Thyranotos, which were the only names they had in the Council’s records, and they obviously didn’t use those anymore. 

There were twenty-three of them in total, which meant that there were nineteen who were still children, or at least very young. There was a chance that some of them were safe, and that they’d always be safe, with families who cared about them. But how likely was that? And then there was the nameless patient from the Dead End Clinic, there and gone without a trace. Where had they gone? Were they okay? How would they get their cast off? 

Orion guessed that he’d never know. 

Over time, the Urban Jungle had become a free clinic by day, and a nightclub by, well, night. Megatron has taken Knock Out back to the old Dead End Clinic to scavenge for more supplies, but they’d come back largely empty-handed. It was slow going. Fall crawled towards winter, the oppressive heat on the city promising to lift for a little while, come November or December. Orion and Megatron stood on top of 211 and looked out towards Tarn, trying to see the desert beyond. In the first week of November, they raided a Thyranotos-owned pharmacy for supplies, and began to establish The Urban Jungle as a clinic in its own right. The process was both too slow and too fast for Orion’s liking. 

Knock Out took his first patient in the second week of November. He pulled a bullet out of a boy’s leg with a flat affect and a cold, dexterous precision. He was no Ratchet, but he was okay. For an organ thief, anyhow. 

Orion had never realized the breadth of the ailments Ratchet and the others at the Dead End Clinic had attended to. There were bullet wounds and burns from gang violence, there were illnesses of all kinds, from rheumatoid arthritis to the common cold, there were victims of overdoses and dehydration and arsenic poisoning and exposure. It sent Orion’s head spinning. And this was all in their first week of operation. Sometimes they asked for donations at the door, but their patients could rarely afford them. They were still The Urban Jungle, Downtown nightlife hotspot, on weekend nights, but during the day, and on weeknights, they’d become something different. They hung the curtains back up over the windows, turned off the disco lights, and put the sound equipment in the closet. Sketch or Starbright played receptionist, while RPG watched with rapt fascination as Knock Out did what he could with their extremely limited supplies. 

On an ordinary Tuesday, not long after the clinic opened, two people walked in. The clinic saw patients of all ages, but these two were particularly young: not much older than eleven or twelve years old. One was a boy, with greasy dark hair, and the other was a girl, with big eyes and a purple cast on her right arm. Megatron looked up from behind the bar where he was cleaning glasses and eyed them intently. Orion tried not to do the same. 

“Your names?” Sketch asked from their makeshift front desk.

“Skywarp,” the girl answered. “I need to get this cast off.” She nodded towards the boy. “He’s just here for emotional support.” 

“Alright, take a seat,” Sketch told her. “Knock Out will see you in a little while.” By a little while she meant a long while. Knock Out, being the only doctor at this poor substitute for the Dead End Clinic, was busy every minute of every day. 

Orion looked over once Knock Out had started working on Skywarp. Megatron was standing at the kitchen door, waving Orion over. He reluctantly approached. 

Once they were in the kitchen, Megatron said, “It’s her. The nameless person Ratchet treated. It’s gotta be. She’s got a broken arm and the timeline makes sense.”

“We can’t know for certain,” Orion argued. “Plenty of people break their arms every day. And even if she is the nameless person, we don’t know that she’s one of the kids who came out of Thyranotos. And  _ even if she is _ we’re not going to accost her about it. She’s twelve.” 

“Her life could be in danger!” Megatron whisper-shouted back. 

Orion threw up his hands. “All our lives are in danger! Every single fucking day! I know you’re obsessed with finding these DNAgents, and I understand why, but the least you could do for me is be honest about it. I don’t want to drag those kids into this, and I most definitely don’t want to do it under false pretenses.”

Megatron sighed. “Fine.” He cracked open the kitchen door a little and put his ear to the gap. Orion joined him. 

“How’d you break your arm?” Knock Out was asking.

“Got it stuck,” Skywarp mumbled. “Had to break it to get it out.”

“Must’ve hurt.”

“Did.”

Knock Out’s tone was uncomfortably prying. Orion glared at Megatron. “Did you put him up to this?”

“Up to what?” Megatron hissed.

“Interrogating her.”

Megatron stayed silent. Knowing his distaste for dishonesty, this was his form of a confession.

“I can’t believe you.” 

“Who put this cast on you?” Knock Out asked. “They did a good job.”

Through the window in the door, Orion watched Skywarp squirm in her chair. “The doctor at the old clinic did.”

Knock Out nodded. “She was good. Do you know what happened to her?”

Skywarp didn’t reply. 

“That’s it,” Orion whispered. “I’m putting a stop to this.” But Megatron grabbed him by the forearm and held him in place.

“Arrested,” Knock Out continued. “It’s why I’m here. Somebody had to pick up the slack. Allegedly, though, the police were looking for someone—“ Orion saw him glance towards the door—towards the boy, “—multiple someone’s, actually.” 

Orion wrenched his arm free from Megatron’s grasp and stormed out of the kitchen. “Knock Out, stop.”

“Orion, wait—“ Megatron called after him, but it was too late.

“Take the cast off and leave the girl alone.”

Knock Out held up his hands defensively. He looked back and forth between Orion’s imposing frame in front of him and Megatron, looming in the kitchen doorway. “Fine, fine,” he said. “You know, leadership really shouldn’t be giving conflicting orders. You should try to put up a more unified front.” Skywarp, for her part, just looked confused. And nervous. And then something—it might have just been a trick of the light, but she seemed to glow purple for a moment, and flash like a projection.

Megatron and Knock Out noticed it too. “What was that?” Megatron asked.

This time, Orion stayed silent. He was curious too.

“Nothing,” Skywarp said, sounding very sure of herself but not looking like it. “Just take my cast off.”

Knock Out looked up at Orion. Orion nodded his assent. Once the cast was off, Skywarp stood up to leave. Orion watched as she made her way towards the door, but Megatron cleared his throat. Fuck. Orion shot him a warning look, which he promptly ignored.

Skywarp turned back around. “What.” 

“I was just wondering—“ Megatron began, though he didn’t get to finish. Skywarp stormed over to him, pushing past Orion. As her hand touched his chest, that same thing happened again. Her arm flashed purple, and suddenly her hand wasn’t on him anymore. It was  _ through  _ him. She pulled her arm back out and continued on towards Megatron, pushing him through the kitchen door, her whole body flashing purple and becoming translucent. And then she went into the kitchen, though she didn’t open the door. She just flashed purple, vanished, then reappeared on the other side. Megatron and Orion looked at each other, astounded, then followed her.

In the kitchen, Skywarp was less of a person than a glitch in spacetime. She was flashing purple and jumping around the room, a few feet at a time. It was very strange, and kind of frightening to behold. 

“What’s happening here?” Megatron demanded, as Skywarp continued to emulate a bad movie effect.

“I’m—I am—am  _ teleport _ —ing,” Skywarp stuttered out in between her jumps. “Can’t—con—control—it.” 

“How can we help?” Orion asked, reaching out towards her. His hand passed through the space where she’d been.

“Can’t—need to—calm—be calm.” She was still for a moment, her eyes wide with fear. “Who—are—“

“I’m Orion,” Orion said. “This is Megatron. We mean you no harm.” 

“You—you—you  _ know _ ,” she insisted. “Now you—we’re not— _ Ratchet _ —“

“Ratchet didn’t tell anyone anything,” Orion assured her. 

“Thyr—an—o—tos,” she stuttered out. Her emotions were flickering between fear and anger. “They’re looking—-“

At that moment, the boy who’d arrived with Skywarp burst through the door. Ignoring Orion and Megatron, he hurried over to his friend (sister?) and wrapped his arms around her shifting form, succeeding at holding onto her where Orion had failed. “Calm. Down,” he said firmly. 

Little by little, Skywarp’s teleporting slowed down, then stopped. She sank to her knees, the boy’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding onto her tightly. Finally, when she no longer showed any signs of instability, he said, “Let’s go.”

They stood up and began to walk out the door when Megatron said, “Wait.”

“Leave us alone,” Skywarp said.

Orion put his hand on Megatron’s shoulder. “You’ve done enough.” His tone was sterner than he’d intended.

“You’ve experienced something terrible, and it’s left you ill,” Megatron continued regardless. “We want to make sure it never happens again. You don’t need to be involved. We don’t want to drag children into this. We’re looking for four people.” He nodded towards Orion. “He was friends with the Councilor who got you out.”

Skywarp turned around and looked the two of them up and down. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Skids speaks for us when we need to be spoken for. I’ll tell him you asked. But don’t come looking for us. Ever. Pretend we were never here. If the others want to be involved, they’ll be involved.” 

Her terms were anything but uncertain. Orion nodded, gripping Megatron’s shoulder tightly, half comfort and half warning. Megatron didn’t react to Skywarp’s words, but he let her and the boy go without interference. 


	23. Plate Tectonics, Part 2: Transformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several warnings for this chapter: character death, violence, blood, explosions, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and some sexual content, though it's more of a "fade to black" situation.

“Listen, Crash, if you want to impress her, make her something,” Sketch said. “Draw something or put together a playlist for her. Putting time into something is sweeter than just dropping a bunch of money.” 

“Spoken like someone who’s never had money,” Starbright retorted. “I know we can’t afford much, but that’s the point. It’s like carving off a piece of yourself—“

Sketch reached out and shoved her sister by the face, almost pushing her off of the chair. “Don’t listen to her, she’s a class traitor. Besides, I have had money. Forging is a  _ job _ .” 

Starbright pinched Sketch’s cheek and pulled. “I’m a class traitor twice over, now, because of  _ you  _ and your little project. ‘Sides, I’m just razzing ya, Little Sunflower. Crash, I’d like you to know that I have no opinion on how you flirt with the lady who comes to fix our radiators.”

Crash let his head land hard on the table. “Fuck me,” he muttered. “She’s been coming here on and off for nearly a year and she hasn’t noticed a thing! I’m utterly screwed!” 

RPG reached over and patted his floppy hair. “There, there. One day you’ll find someone who’ll love you.” Then she shrugged. “Or not. Who cares. Not me.”

“You were nicer when you were younger,” Crash grumbled.

“No she wasn’t,” Sketch and Starbright said in unison. 

At that moment, Veritas came down the stairs and slammed a sheet of paper onto the counter where Megatron was sitting. “I’ve found it,” she announced. “Petrex. On the docks.”

Sketch stood up and wrapped an arm around Veritas’ waist. “What’s in Petrex?”

“Thyranotos’ auxiliary servers,” Veritas said.

Starbright leaned back in her chair. “I feel like I’m missing something here.” 

“A few days ago Megs and I were brainstorming about ways to help protect the DNAgents without knowing where they are,” Veritas explained. It’d been a few months since their encounter with Skywarp, and she hadn’t surfaced again, nor had any of the other DNAgents. “And I was looking into the actual, physical research material that Thyranotos had, because without it they wouldn’t have as big of a reason to try and find the DNAgents. According to the Council’s reports from the initial raid, they were forced to turn all of it over. Councilors Shockwave and Dai Atlas then promptly had it destroyed.”

“I sense a ‘but,’” Orion said. 

“ _ But  _ Thyranotos doesn’t make it this far as a biotech company without keeping backup copies of their research. So. Where are they keeping it? If they have physical copies, there’s nothing I can do about that right now. But I can find servers. The internal servers were searched quite thoroughly, so the backups wouldn’t be there. So I think they’re in Petrex.”

“And why do you think that?” Sketch asked.

“A few reasons,” Veritas continued. “There’s a warehouse there that’s owned jointly by two companies: InfoComp and Redline. The Housing Authority lists it as a storage facility, but what do they store?”

Orion frowned. “I’ve never heard of Redline.”

Veritas snorted. “Yeah, they don’t do much except be a subsidiary of Thyranotos. Anyway, I’ve tracked the electric bill on that place, and it’s high. Like, way high. Like they’re powering a bajillion servers and keeping the A/C on blast to make sure those servers don’t overheat. It’s also super heavily guarded, more so than any of Thyranotos’ or InfoComp’s actual storage facilities.”

“What are you thinking?” Orion asked. The question was directed at Megatron. 

“I was thinking we could break in and destroy it,” Megatron answered. 

“I could engineer a virus and infect the servers, deleting all the research,” Veritas said. “But I’d need to break in multiple times to actually figure out how to best do that. And even then I might miss something. So I was talking to RPG the other day and she offered a simpler solution.”

RPG jumped on top of her chair and shouted, “I wanna blow it up!” 

“Fuck yeah!” Crash exclaimed. They high fived.

Megatron spun around on his stool. “Alright, gang, looks like it’s time for another heist.” 

Their heists had grown more complicated over time, and this would be the trickiest one yet. The servers were heavily guarded, with human guards and security cameras both inside and outside of the building. As such, they’d need two distractions, and a covert way in. Luckily, the terrain provided an answer: 

“The western end of Petrex is built on top of a desalination plant,” Megatron explained. “All of the plant’s equipment is underground, under the piers. There are grates to let the water in from the ocean that can be easily removed. We get into the desalination plant, we’re directly under the server building. From there, we work our way up inside.”

Orion’s butt hurt from sitting in the dinghy so long, pressing hard into the water with his oars as the ocean rocked them mercilessly. He and Megatron were rowing, while RPG clung to the metal sides of the boat for dear life and Veritas peered out across the water, looking for signs of trouble. 

The grate was old, rusted over, and covered in barnacles. It took a little bit of muscle, but RPG was able to crank the bolts off, letting the metal fall into water with a lame little splash. Inside, the plant was mostly automated. There were maintenance workers that haunted the halls during the day, but they weren’t here now. The plant was eerily quiet, the only noises being the rush of the waves, the drip of the pipes, and the soft  _ chug chug  _ of the machines. So, Orion supposed it wasn’t that quiet, but it was unsettling, being so far removed from the regular sounds of the city. 

After traversing the machinery and waterways for several minutes, Megatron held up a hand, gesturing for them to stop. “We’re under the warehouse now,” he whispered. “Veritas, set off the alarms.”

This was the second phase of the plan: getting everyone out of the building. Normally they’d just attempt to avoid the guards, but since they were literally blowing up the building, they didn’t want any unnecessary casualties. And what better way to evacuate a building than pulling the fire alarm? It technically wasn’t even a false alarm, it was just warning about a fire that hadn’t happened yet. Of course, they’d have to worry about Thyranotos’ personal fire team showing up eventually, but unless there was greater evidence of an actual fire, they’d likely arrive at a leisurely pace. 

From above six inches of concrete, sirens started to blare. It was their cue to go, and Wheelarch and Starbright’s cue to go as well. RPG whipped out her second tool of the evening: a powerful saw. It buzzed menacingly against the concrete, setting dust raining down onto their heads. Within seven minutes, RPG had cut a messy circle into the ceiling of the desalination plant and the floor of the Thyranotos server building. 

The infiltration team was the four of them, the distraction team was Wheelarch and Starbright, and the getaway team was. It was just Crash. Crash was parked a block away, as he normally was. They’d call him to come and get them when the charges were set. Once the fire alarms went off, it was time for Wheelarch and Starbright to spring into action. Their job was to corner all of the guards who’d gathered outside and get them to chase after them, drawing them away from the building. It’d be a tough sell, but between Starbright’s missing celebrity status and Wheelarch’s improvisational skill, they could pull it off.

This was Starbright’s first heist. She’d actually begged to come along. “You all are out getting into scrapes and doing hijinks and whatnot and I’m just here, babysitting my little sister,” she’d said

Sketch had poked her sister in the back and said, “You brought this on yourself.” 

Ignoring her, Starbright had continued, “I haven’t gotten into any trouble since I became an actress! Longer, even! Not since Mom died! And that happened when I was a teenager!”

Sketch had folded her arms. “Star, I guarantee you’ve never gotten into any trouble ever in your life.” 

Megatron had looked at the two of them with amusement and said, “Then why not start now?”

The C4 charges were attached to a central timer, because RPG hadn’t had the materials to set up a remote detonation system. This posed a certain danger, however, because once they were set, everyone had a limited time to get the fuck out. So they got to work quickly, attaching two bombs to each row of servers: one on either side. Between the green and blue lights of the electronics and the flashing red lights of the C4, the inside of the building looked like a disco when they were done. 

“Once I hit this, it’ll be go time,” RPG explained in a whisper, holding up a digital timer attached by many wires to the charges. “You ready?”

“Ready,” Megatron whispered. Everyone nodded. 

The charges were set. Five minutes. Unfortunately for everyone, it was at that exact moment that Orion remembered something. The realization struck him so suddenly that he exclaimed aloud, “Shockwave!”

Megatron looked at him, worry in his eyes. “Orion,” he murmured. “Please don’t consider what I think you’re considering.”

Orion ignored him. “Veritas, how much information do you think Thyranotos keeps on these servers? Is it everything?”

Veritas nodded, though she, too, looked worried. 

“Orion, we have to leave. It’s been more than three years,” Megatron continued. He grabbed Orion by the shoulders and spun him around to face him. “Orion, please. We have less than five minutes.”

“I have to try, Megatron!” Orion shouted. “I abandoned them three years ago, I have to try again!” He turned back to Veritas. “Do you have a flash drive on you?”

“I—“ Veritas began.

“ _ Do you have a flash drive on you!? _ ” Orion repeated. Veritas wordlessly handed one over. “Where’s the terminal? There has to be a search function on these things.” Veritas pointed behind her. “The rest of you go. I have to do this.” He made his way over towards the terminal and plugged the flash drive in. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Megatron. “You’re doing a stupid thing. The least I can do is help you make it out of here alive.”

_ Input:search / Shockwave / Shockwave of Iacon Heights / City Councilor Shockwave / Councilor Shockwave _ . Orion hit search. One result. One file. One thing maybe,  _ possibly  _ revealing his old friend’s location. And what had happened to them in the time they’d been missing. He moved the file onto the flash drive and then pulled it out. 

“Let’s go,” Megatron said, grabbing onto his hand. “We don’t have much time.” 

They made a beeline for the front door. The lights were blinking and the C4 was beeping and the fire alarm had stopped blaring, but it still rang in Orion’s ears like bad tinnitus. They’d made it to the front door when the charges went off, sending a wave of fire rolling over them and collapsing the building down around their ears.

When Orion came to, it might’ve been seconds, or minutes, or even hours. It couldn’t have been that long, though, because the world in front of him was wreathed in flame. He rose to his knees slowly, his bones creaking, his back aching. The heat blasted onto his face. “Megatron?” he called, his voice hoarse and cracked. “Megatron?”

To his relief, a moment later, Megatron called back, “Here.”

Orion scrambled to his feet, slipping on the rubble-covered floor. “Megatron!” He rushed over to his friend to find him lying on his stomach, pinned beneath an iron girder. “Megatron!”

Megatron coughed. “I’m okay. Stuck, but okay.”

“We need to get out of here.”

Megatron laughed weakly. “Yeah, no shit. But Orion, I don’t think I can. I’m stuck.”

“You’re not,” Orion insisted. “Here, let me—“ He squatted down and attempted to lift the girder, but to no avail. He looked up and watched the fire. It was eating through the remaining servers at a surprisingly rapid pace. 

“If we lifted together from the bottom, you could free me.” Megatron sounded mournful. “But then—“

“—I’d be stuck instead of you,” Orion finished. He immediately got down on his knees and attempted to wriggle his way under the girder next to Megatron.

“No, stop,” Megatron said. “I’m not gonna let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

“No—I—this is my fault!” Orion exclaimed. He still had the flash drive in his back pocket. He could feel it through his pants. “I—you—I won’t let you die for me. For the stupid thing I insisted on doing.”

“No, Orion I get it. If I could get Terminus back, or Bex. Or any of my friends who died in the Myriad. I would. Just. Come down here.” Orion knelt in front of him. “You have to make sure this comes to fruition. You have to make sure we succeed. And you—find Shockwave.”

“I will.”

“And there’s—there’s something you gave to me a while ago, and I don’t want to die—or—or  _ worse  _ without giving it back.” 

Orion had no idea what he was talking about until Megatron kissed him. Megatron’s fingers, rough and covered in dust, curled around his ears, and his lips were gentle and chapped on his own. Orion thought he might start crying.  _ I love you _ , Orion said, though he must not have said it aloud, because he didn’t pull out of the kiss.

“I knew it,” someone said behind them, breaking their reverie. “Sketch owes me fifteen dollars.” 

“Starbright?” Megatron exclaimed.

“What the fuck are you two doing? Crash told me to come get you. He’s waiting in the car. Firefighters are on their way,” Starbright said. “Why are you making out in a burning building? You’re gonna fuckin’ die.” 

“I’m stuck,” Megatron said. “I’m gonna die no matter what. I can’t get out without—“ But he didn’t get to finish, because Starbright was wriggling down under the girder in the same move that Orion had tried to pull.

“Okay. On three, we push upwards, then you go, okay? One, two—“

“Wait, hang on, what are you—“ Megatron started.

“This cause, this group will die without you. Without both of you,” Starbright explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Okay. One, two, three.” They pushed upwards, and Megatron scrambled out onto the floor at Orion’s feet. As soon as Megatron let go, the girder collapsed back onto Starbright’s back. She let out a raw, ugly  _ oof _ . “Ugh. This thing’s heavy.” She smiled up at them. “Tell Sketch I’m sorry. And that it’s not her fault. Now get the fuck out of here.”

They obeyed, escaping from the flame-riddled building and into the ice-black night. 

When they arrived back at 211, Sketch, Knock Out, Blackpowder, Springarm, and Roller were waiting up for them. Sketch scanned their group, took in their downcast expressions, noticed the absence among them, and asked, “Where’s Starbright?”

Instantly, Sketch’s normal off-handed, sarcastic composure was gone. Tears began to streak down her face as she screamed, “How dare you! How dare you let her die!” Veritas rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her, but Sketch shook her off. “How dare you! How dare you!” Her words broke down, shuffling off into sobs. She buried her face in her hands. This time, when Veritas put her hand on her shoulder, she let her. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Veritas murmured into her ear.

Sketch shook her head. “No, no. They need to  _ know _ , V, they need to—Starbright. She.” She looked up. “When she—she took care of me. For  _ years _ . Even before Mom died. Mom used to throw things at us and yell at us and Starbright protected me  _ every time _ . She was the perfect child. We were dirt poor and she was so perfect, she wanted to be everything Mom wanted her to be. And in the end, she was.” Sketch smiled through her tears at the memory. “When she became an actress—it was her dream. It was her dream and she almost said no because she wanted to stay behind and keep on taking care of me.” Sketch sank down, her legs forming a W on the floor. She brushed some snot away from her nose. “I told her to get out, because I could take care of myself. But really I—I thought,  _ Well at least one of us will make it. One of us will die safe and sound and happy, just like Mom wanted.  _ Mom used to say that all the time:  _ I’m just trying to make sure you die happy. _ ” Sketch gave a long sniffle. Veritas pushed a tissue into her hand. “But she didn’t. She died alone. For a cause she didn’t believe in. Because she wanted to protect me.” And then, very softly: “ _ Oh, god _ .”

Megatron stepped forward. “She said you’d blame yourself. She told us to tell you not to.” 

“What a shitty choice for your first martyr,” Sketch said, her voice wracked with pain. 

“I’m sorry,” Orion said, though he’d said it already.  _ Is Shockwave worth it?  _ It was a stupid thing, and he’d never, ever make it up to her. To either of them. His thoughts were choppy, and he barely noticed as Veritas led Sketch upstairs.

Once they were gone, Megatron slipped upstairs as well, and Orion heard his feet creak on the stairs up to the third floor. Orion had no idea what Megatron was going to do. It was his life that Starbright had died to save, after all. Orion had never seen Megatron process grief that was fresh before. Grief that hung like an open wound in the air. When Orion arrived on the top floor, Megatron was squatting on the sparring mats, his back to the door. He cautiously approached him, and found that he was holding one of the quarterstaffs, rolling it tenderly between his fingers.

Megatron must’ve noticed Orion’s approach, because he abruptly stood up, the quarterstaff clattering to the floor. For a moment, a split second, really, Orion thought that Megatron was going to punch him, or at the very least shout. But he didn’t. Instead, he did the opposite: he kissed Orion again.

That surprised him. Though they’d just kissed in the warehouse, Megatron had been about to die. It had been a last, tender act of love. Now there was no danger. No rush to be together before one person vanished from the other’s life forever. This kiss felt different, too. The kiss in the warehouse had been gentle, but this was heady, and desperate. It was a kiss of reckless abandon, and Orion couldn’t help but return it with equal passion, pressing his lips back against Megatron’s hard. 

When they broke apart, Orion said, “But—back then—two years ago, you said—“  _ No. Not now. Maybe not ever. I can’t lead a revolution and be with you at the same time.  _

Megatron smiled, but it was a strangely desolate smile. “I changed my mind.” And then he kissed him again. 

When they broke apart for the second time, Orion noticed something on Megatron’s face. One of his scars had broken open at some point, probably in the explosion, and blood was trickling down his forehead. “Your scars,” Orion said, reaching out to wipe the blood away. 

Megatron reached up and pulled Orion’s hand away. His thumb was dotted with Megatron’s blood. And then, to Orion’s shock and not-quite-horror, Megatron put Orion’s thumb in his mouth and sucked the blood off. He felt his thumbnail press against Megatron’s molars. Megatron’s eyes were closed, even as his hand worked its way around Orion’s back to pull them closer together. 

Orion left his thumb in Megatron’s mouth for perhaps a little longer than he’d intended. And when he finally pulled it free, Megatron scooped him back in for a third kiss, this one even more heated than the first two. Megatron then began to make his way from Orion’s mouth along his jawline, Megatron’s stubble scratching against his cheek. Orion let his eyes fall shut. As Megatron made his way down from Orion’s face to his neck, Orion felt something wet against his skin.  _ More blood?  _ Orion abruptly pushed Megatron back to discover that he wasn’t bleeding. He was crying.

“What?” Megatron demanded.

“You’re crying,” Orion pointed out.

Megatron, apparently, hadn’t noticed. “Oh.” He wiped his tears away. “Weird.”

“Megatron—“

“ _ What? _ ”

“Why are you—do we really want to—-why are you doing this? Now?”

Megatron smiled again, his eyes closing into upside-down U’s. A fresh wave of tears cascaded down his cheeks. He opened his eyes and looked at Orion with a terrifying affection. He said, “I am just so in love with you.” He tucked his hand under Orion’s shirt, sliding it up the bare skin of his back. Arousal raced down the sides of Orion’s rib cage and pooled in the pit of his stomach. 

“You’re crying,” Orion said again, more weakly this time. He was having trouble catching his breath. 

“And?” Megatron said, wrapping his other arm around Orion. “What does it matter?”

“This can't be healthy.”

“Who cares about healthy?”

“I care. I care about healthy. I care about you.” 

Megatron laughed softly. “That’s good. That’s really—good.” But before Orion could respond Megatron was spiraling him around the room, almost as if they were dancing. They pushed through the divider and onto Megatron’s bed, where Megatron scooped Orion into his lap. “For what it’s worth,” Megatron whispered into Orion’s neck, “I care about you too.” 

Orion could feel how fraught this all was as he squared his hands on Megatron’s shoulders and pushed him down backwards onto the bed. There was something terrible and wonderful that built between them, something that Orion felt alongside Megatron’s heartbeat. Megatron’s breath hitched. All that tension between them: deep and genuine love gone unacted upon, rampant repressed sexual desire, and terrible, aching, reverberating grief. Orion locked his legs around Megatron’s hips. Underneath them, he could hear what sounded like Sketch and Veritas shouting at each other, though their words were indistinct. Orion leaned down to capture Megatron in another kiss, and for a little while, from that moment until they fell asleep some time later, neither of them thought about Starbright, dying alone. In pain. Screaming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you liked Starbright, but she's my self insert to I get to kill her if I want to.


	24. Stopgap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-warning for frank discussion of sexual content, though no actual sexual content.

In the morning, Orion woke up alone, his legs tangled in the sheets of Megatron’s bed. The highs and lows of the night before came rushing back to him, and he scrambled out of bed to put his pajama pants on. Leaving his corner of the room, he discovered Megatron, sitting at the fold out table in the center of the room. Orion stood there for a moment, taking in his friend (lover?) as he scribbled in his journal. 

All at once, something overcame him. His eyes widened, his eyebrows furrowed, and he clenched his fists at his sides. Hot anger welled up inside him, and before he could stop himself, he’d lunged at Megatron, tackling him off the chair and onto the floor. 

“What the—?!” Megatron said, rolling Orion over him and sending him skidding onto the mat. Megatron pushed his hair out of his face and demanded, “Have you lost your goddamn mind?!”

“Have you?” Orion shot back. “We fucked. Why?” 

“Because we both wanted to?” Megatron said, confused. Then he grinned sharply, baring his teeth. “But if it’s a fight you want, who am I to deny you?” 

Orion did want a fight, he realized, and maybe not just with Megatron. Megatron just happened to be there. Megatron lunged at Orion, pushing off the floor and body-slamming into him, their ribs cracking against each other. This sparring session (if it could even be called that) was fiercer than any of their others as Megatron cracked Orion across the face with a hardy punch. Orion returned the favor by socking him in the stomach. They stood up, circling each other. 

“I meant what I said,” Orion told Megatron. “Why did you fuck me last night?”

Megatron wiped sweat off his forehead. “Did you not want to?”

“I did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It was a bad idea.”

Megatron smiled, ear to ear. “Seems we’re both full of those.” He leapt at Orion again, and Orion sidestepped him effortlessly. Megatron was good at hand to hand combat; he was swift and strong, but his attacks were getting easier to predict. “You’re getting better at this,” Megatron noted.

“Maybe you’re getting worse,” Orion retorted. Megatron leapt at him again. This time, instead of fully dodging, Orion moved aside stuck his foot out so that Megatron tripped on it and came crashing to the floor. “All this time, you’ve been teaching me how to fight and win,” Orion continued. “But you said everyone fights differently, so all you’ve been doing is teaching me how to beat you.” 

Megatron sprung back up to his feet. “And yet you still haven’t managed it.” There was less venom in his words than there had been when the fight started, as their tension released with the catharsis of the spar. 

Orion cocked his head. “I will.” He waited for Megatron to come to him. That was Megs’ main weakness: no patience. He always acted first, and that gave Orion the ability to react accordingly. He dodged out of the way, wrapping an arm around Megatron’s waist and spiraling him around. Then, he kicked him in the back of the knee, sending Megatron, dizzy from the spin, crashing downwards at Orion’s feet. In one swift motion, Orion flipped Megatron over and sat on his stomach, pinning him to the ground. He rested his forearm on Megatron’s neck, under his chin. He was triumphant. 

But Megatron didn’t look surprised at all. He looked smug. Proud, even. He tilted his chin upwards. “You finally beat me,” he noted.

“I have,” Orion said, breathless. Then: “Do you think we’ll keep having sex?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.” Orion didn’t even have to think about it. 

“Good, because so do I.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Since when has that mattered?” Megatron asked. Then he reached up and pulled Orion down into a kiss. 

For once, Orion was inclined to agree with him. 

When they arrived downstairs, Veritas was leaning on the wall next to the stairwell, dark circles painting her eyelids. She looked them up and down. “Took you long enough,” she said. “Sketch is gone.”

“She’s what?” Orion said.

“What do you mean?” Megatron asked. “She’s not—?”

“She’s gone. She left,” Veritas elaborated.

“Left? Left where?” Megatron asked. 

“Cybertron,” Veritas answered. 

“Why’d she do that?”

“Because I told her to.” 

That seemed to shock Megatron, though it didn’t surprise Orion. Not really. “Why on earth did you do that?” Megatron demanded. “She was our forger!”

“She wasn’t  _ your  _ anything,” Veritas replied, cleaning some gunk out from under her index fingernail with her thumbnail. “A while back I got a letter from Spectrum—“

“You got a letter from Spectrum?” Orion broke in. “When? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It was a few months ago. And why should I have told you? She’s  _ my _ sister,” Veritas retorted. 

Orion didn’t respond. She had a point.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Spectrum’s doing fine. She found this little community out in the desert, living apart from Cybertron. Living apart from all society, actually. And she’s happy there. She’s safe. And so I told Sketch to go. Find Spectrum, find her little clan.”

“But why?” Megatron asked, less angry now. 

“You’re responsible for Starbright’s death, Megs,” Veritas pointed out gently. “You and Orion both. No matter how justified you think her death was, you’re responsible. And Sketch is going to look at you and see that responsibility for—if not forever, then for a long fucking time. And she would’ve had to have learned to repress the rage that stems from that if she wanted to stay. And that’s not healthy. So I told her to leave.” Veritas turned to Orion. “You remember how I reacted when I met you at the bar? That was nearly a year after what happened to Spectrum happened, and you bore a fraction of the responsibility for that compared to what you bear now.” She sighed. “Maybe she’ll come back, but it’ll be a long time from now.” 

“Are you staying?” Orion asked. “Or are you leaving for the Mojave as well?”

“I’m staying.” She sounded certain, if overwhelmingly sad. “I still have to kick Thyranotos’ ass on Spectrum’s behalf.” She gave the two of them an off-kilter smile. “I promised you and her that much.

“So that means that you and Sketch—“ Orion started, then cut himself off. 

Veritas closed her eyes. “We’re not together anymore, no. Maybe one day it’ll happen, we’ll get back to each other, but. Again. It’s a long way off.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. You should be.” 

Later in the day, the tired afternoon sun filtering in under through the paint on the front windows, Knock Out approached Megatron with a tablet in his hand. “Megatron, I was checking out our bank account because we’re out of epinephrine. We’ve got some activity.” He handed Megatron the tablet.

“Myriad?” Megatron asked. Great. This was just what they needed. Someone hacking their bank account.

“Unlikely, unless Galvatron’s suddenly into anonymously giving us large sums of money,” Knock Out answered. 

Orion looked over Megatron’s shoulder at the tablet. Five thousand shanix had recently been deposited into the account. Five thousand more had been deposited last month. That was an insane amount of money. 

“Every month since August, like clockwork,” Knock Out continued.

“How did we not notice this before?” Orion asked, taking the tablet from Megatron and staring at it. “That’s so much money. What are we gonna do?”

Megatron leaned his head on his palm. He looked as tired as Orion felt. “Not look a gift horse in the mouth?” 

“We can’t just—this could be some sort of weird blackmail thing, or a way to trace us. I hate to be a killjoy here, but—“

Megatron let his head collapse onto the counter. He waved his hand. “Have Veritas look into it. We have bigger problems at the moment. Namely getting a new forger.” 

Orion wished he shared Megatron’s nonchalance about this. Though he supposed Megatron wasn’t nonchalant; he was just tired. Knock Out took the tablet back and went about his work, tidying up the clinic space and turning on the radio. “—the previously missing actress Starbright of Nyon has been found in the wake of last night’s explosion in Petrex,” the newscaster was saying. “It is currently unknown what she was doing there and how much she had to do with the explosion. Miss Starbright appears to have been the only fatality. She has no known living relatives, and her former agent could not be reached for comment.”

“Turn that off, Knock Out,” Orion groaned, lacing his fingers together behind his neck.

Knock Out looked up. “What?”

“I said, turn it off!” Orion shouted. Knock Out turned it off, leaving the downstairs area in heavy silence. 

Even later in the day, the shallow evening having settled over the city like the ninth plague in Egypt, a man walked in the front door, the bell jingling above his head. The clinic was closed, and had been all day. So said the sign on the door. Everyone turned to look at him. He had long legs, broad shoulders, dark hair, and tired, but kind eyes. He wasn’t unattractive, and upon his entry both Crash and Knock Out perked up.

“Sorry, clinic’s closed for today,” Megatron said. He was cleaning glasses behind the bar. “You know, it’s more of an urgent care place than an ER—“

“He can stay,” Knock Out and Crash said at the same time. Then they glared at each other. “What do you need?” Knock Out asked, striding towards him.

“I’m not here for the clinic,” the man said. “I’m here to see Megatron. Are you him?” 

Megatron turned around and leaned on the bar. “What’s it to you?”

“Are you the Descenticons?” the man asked. “And are you the ones responsible for the explosion in Petrex last night?” 

Megatron lifted his chin and Orion swiveled around on his stool. This could get very bad very quickly. “What’s it to you?” Megatron asked at the same time that Orion asked, “Are you a cop?”

Crash and Knock Out took a step back. “You have to tell us if you’re a cop. Otherwise it’s entrapment,” Crash said. 

The man looked at Crash strangely. “I don’t think that’s true. Either way, I’m not a cop. My name’s Skids, and Skywarp and Thundercracker told me about you all some time ago. I was hesitant to reach out before but I thought it was now or never.” 

_ Oh. I guess the DNAgents are here.  _ Megatron vaulted over the counter.  _ Show-off.  _ He took Skids’ hand and shook it firmly. “Tell us everything,” he entreated. 

Crash was staring at Skids dreamily while he ticked off the names of all the DNAgents who were MIA. “Makeshift, Tiresias, Phoenix,” he listed, counting on his fingers. “They all made it into homes. Their powers are less obtrusive. Skywarp and Thundercracker were in a group home for a little while before Thyranotos found them. When one of the kids is flashing purple and teleporting around the room and the other shorts out the lights on the reg people tend to talk. They ran away and were living on the streets for a little while before we found them.”

“Where are you living now?” Orion asked.

“Little apartment in Paksa-Grazie,” Skids replied. “It’s cramped and dirty, but it’s ours. And say what you will about the people in P-G, but they’re not snitches.” He laughed. “We almost blend in.” 

“Are you okay?” Orion asked.

Skids shook his head, shrugged, looked around the room. “Yes. Okay as we ever can be. Which is really a no. We’re always afraid they’ll find us, and there’s no way of saying whether the children are safe. We only know where Skywarp and Thundercracker actually are. The others, Makeshift, Vanisher, Tiresias, Phoenix, Flare, they’re in the wind. It’s why we didn’t reach out. Even leaving our apartment is a risk. They know what we look like. We could be seen at any time.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“The server building. We’ve had our eye on it for a while now. I was trying to engineer a virus to take it down, but it was difficult, even for me. We never thought to just blow it up.”

Orion looked down at his hands. “Yes, well, blowing it up cost us dearly.”

“You can engineer viruses?” Megatron asked. “Are you a hacker?”

“I’m an everything, Megatron,” Skids answered. “I’m a super learner. I can learn almost any skill just by watching. It’s why I speak for the others when they need to be spoken for. None of us can really control our powers very well. Thyranotos never figured out how to make us do that, and to be honest, I’m not sure they wanted to. If Skywarp could control her power, she could just teleport on out of there. Anyway, since mine’s a more passive ability, it doesn’t show. So I can interact with the world more easily.”

Megatron rubbed his chin. “A super learner. That’s impressive. You say you can learn how to do anything?”

“Almost anything.”

“How about forging?” 

“Of course.” 

“And your friends. What can they do?”

“Forcefield, magnesis, and power over electronics. Though I have to warn you, Glitch doesn’t have the best control over his powers. You may want to store your phones and computers outside of his way if you don’t want them getting EMP’d.” 

“When can we meet them?” Orion asked.

Orion forgot about the flash drive until Skids had gone. After everything that had happened, it was almost an afterthought. He’d left it in the back pocket of his jeans. He ran upstairs to retrieve it, shuffling through the denim with desperate fingers.  _ Where is it?  _ Finally, he extracted the drive from between the seams, holding it aloft triumphantly. 

Except that it was melted. The black plastic of the handle had melted all over the metal of the USB attachment. The metal itself had warped as well, bowing inwards. Orion almost threw it across the room. All of it had been for nothing. For absolutely nothing. 

_ Don’t give up yet,  _ a little voice told him.  _ Maybe someone can help.  _

So Orion pressed the drive into Veritas’ palm as she sat on the edge of her bed in her room. It was two beds, actually, two twins, but they’d been pushed together. She looked at the drive with concern. “Maybe I can do something,” she said, shaking her head. “I can scrape the plastic off and bend the metal back into shape. But some of the data’s bound to be corrupted.”

“Thank you,” Orion said anyway. “For everything you’ve done for us.”  _ For everything you’ve given up and given away.  _

“It’s no problem,” Veritas said. But Orion knew that it was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Godspeed, Sketch.


	25. Stretched Too Thin

On a rainy morning near the end of the calendar year, Orion, Megatron, and the others stood in the back of a crowd outside of a high rise luxury apartment complex in Paraíso. It was a far cry from the Megabuildings of Nyon and Lower Iacon. It looked like it didn’t belong here, like a transplant from a different, cleaner, more beautiful city. No, a different  _ planet _ . One made of shining stainless steel like that in Shockwave’s kitchen. Orion stared up at it and he wondered if he could see any of Starbright’s windows from where he stood. 

Her agent was standing on the front steps of the building. Orion couldn’t hear what he was saying.  _ How are they this rich and still have shitty amps?  _ Orion had disliked spending time in Paraíso before, but now he hated it. No wonder Sketch had refused to move in with her sister. Everything here was so soulless.

“He didn’t even know her,” Megatron muttered, folding his arms. “Not as she was when she died. We should hold a wake for her on our own. This—“ he gestured to the crowd, “this is nothing.”

He was right. It was nothing. Starbright would’ve laughed at every single person in the crowd, crowing,  _ Look at all these backwards-ass motherfuckers who think they knew jack all about me. I have to laugh.  _ But still, he said, “Do we get to have a funeral for her when we killed her?”

“We didn’t kill her,” Megatron said, not looking at Orion. 

“We kind of did, though—“

“We didn’t,” Megatron cut him off. “Starbright made her own choices. She chose to sacrifice for the cause.”

_ Sketch didn’t think so.  _ But Orion didn’t say that aloud. 

On the walk back to Megatron’s car, the rain creeping down the backs of their necks, Skids fell into step with them. “Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Home,” Megatron answered. “We’re about to throw our own funeral for Starbright, if you wanna bring the gang ‘round.” 

“We didn’t know her,” Skids said.

“Neither did any of these people.” Megatron nodded towards the crowd behind them. 

Back at 211, Megatron burst through the door, sending the bell into a frenzy. “RPG,” he said, “do you have—were you sleeping on the floor.”

She was. Curled up on the plastic dance floor under Knock Out’s chair like a cat. She stretched and stood up, bumping her head on the bottom of the chair. “Yeah? And?” She’d declined to attend the funeral. She’d wondered what the point was. “It’s just gonna be a bunch of people we don’t know saying whatever dumb shit about someone we did know and they didn’t,” she’d said. She’d been right.

“Why were you asleep on the floor?” Orion asked.

“I didn’t go home to sleep last night,” she told him. “I was tired, and old habits die hard.” 

Megatron waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Do you have candles?”

RPG scoffed. “Do I have candles? Of course I have candles.” She was setting out candles when Blackpowder, Springarm, Wheelarch, and Roller came in. He helped set up more seating in the downstairs area, spreading paper tablecloths over fold out tables. RPG went around lighting the candles with a metal lighter—God knew where she’d gotten it from, because no one gave her anything flammable these days—setting the dreary room in a warm glow. 

The DNAgents walked in just after they’d finished setting up. Skids was there, of course, but behind him were three other people. One was a girl, not much older than twenty-two, with a short, stocky build. One was a man, a little younger than Orion and Megatron. He wore an eyepatch. The third seemed gender-nonconforming or non-binary, and he was tall and willowy, with a slightly hunched posture.

“Windcharger, Damus, Trailbreaker,” Skids introduced them.

“Everyone calls me Glitch,” Damus said. 

“And everyone calls me ‘annoying,’” Windcharger said, stepping farther into the room. “Nice place. How do you afford it?”

“Theft. Larceny. Robbery. Burglary. Stealing. Looting. Crime,” Veritas told her. Introductions were made as everyone gathered in the downstairs room, putting together a makeshift setup for the funeral. 

“Plus we have an anonymous donor,” Crash added. They still hadn’t figured out their benefactor’s identity. According to Veritas, they’d covered their identity well. They were either an excellent hacker or had one in their employ. And, if they were being honest, it wasn’t exactly a priority. It was free money. Who were they to complain? 

“I don’t think Starbright would like the candles,” Springarm pointed out. “She was all about glitz and stuff, right?”

“But she left the film industry to get away from that stuff,” Roller countered. “So maybe she’d appreciate candles.”

Veritas rubbed her temples. “Does it matter? She’s not here. I mean, we don’t even have her corpse.”

Everyone agreed that it did not, in fact, matter. Funerals were for the living, after all, not the dead. But Orion couldn’t help but think,  _ Sketch would know. What even is the point of this funeral if Sketch isn’t here? _

True to his predictions, the funeral was lackluster at best. Everyone gathered in uncomfortable chairs around the downstairs room while Wheelarch played a playlist Starbright made from the DJ booth. Veritas said a few words, then Orion said something he’d made up off the top of his head. It sounded hollow and false. How could he call her brave in this way when she’d sacrificed herself for  _ his  _ mistake? His and Megatron’s, that is. But Megatron seemed to be denying any responsibility for it. “Sacrifices are part of any revolution,” he’d said on their ride back from the funeral in Paraíso. “We can’t beat ourselves up over it. We have to keep going.” 

He was technically right. Shockwave and Spectrum had both sacrificed themselves for what they believed in. But Starbright’s sacrifice felt different. More direct, and less necessary. 

It was Megatron’s turn to speak. “Starbright wrote a lot of my words for me,” he said. “But she can’t speak for me now. So I’m going to let someone else speak for me instead. One of the things she and I bonded over was our mutual love of poetry. A poet she was fond of was Carolyn Forché, so I thought it would be fitting to read a poem of hers. Ahem.  _ A peacock on an olive branch looks beyond/the grove to the road, beyond the road to the sea,/blank-lit, where a sailboat anchors to a cove. _ ” 

A heavy gloom had settled over everyone by the time he was done. RPG had her head in her arms on the table and was picking at her burn scars. Veritas, for once, wasn’t stopping her. Springarm lay his head on Roller’s shoulder. Windcharger snaked an arm around Skids and squeezed. They hadn’t known Starbright, and they never would. But it was still sad. Knock Out, who was leaning on the counter, turned his gaze from Megatron to stare out the front window into the icy rain of the gray winter afternoon. Orion bent over to tie his shoe.  _ If only Sketch were here. Sketch should be here. They should  _ both  _ be here. This shouldn’t be happening at all.  _

The following afternoon, the clinic was open, but the day was unusually slow, especially for flu season. It looked like the free vaccines Sketch had suggested offering back in August were working. Knock Out had tended to an infected blister, a case of the common cold, and a bad LSD trip in the hours since the early morning, but that was all. The DNAgents were hanging around in the back of the clinic, observing the goings-on. They seemed impressed. Which was good because they were paying a fortune on their mortgage, which was only partially supplemented by their anonymous monthly donations. 

It was at that moment that a stranger walked in. A woman with long dreadlocks and a pair of blue sunglasses that looked like Geordi LaForge’s from  _ Star Trek _ .  _ Who wears sunglasses on a day like today?  _

A moment later, Wheelarch answered Orion’s unspoken question for him. “ _ Jazz? _ ” 

_ Jazz?  _ On second glance, it was her. Orion had only seen her a few times. He wasn’t nearly as big of a fan as Wheelarch, but he did recognize her. 

Megatron leaned over towards him. “Is this that musician Wheelarch is always going on about?”

Orion nodded cautiously. “I think so.”

“How come celebrities keep walking into our clinic apropos of nothing? She isn’t  _ your  _ estranged sister by any chance?”

“Not that I know of.” 

Jazz took off her sunglasses and tucked them into her purse. “That’s me,” she said, her voice surprisingly unconfident. “I’m Jazz, I guess.”

Wheelarch hurried over to her and started aggressively shaking her hand. “Ohmygod. I am  _ such  _ a huge fan.  _ What It’s Really Like  _ was a  _ masterpiece! _ ”

“Thank you,” she said, appearing a little overwhelmed. 

“I’m serious!” Wheelarch insisted. “I must’ve listened to it a hundred times.  _ The Cybertronian Cool _ , as well, it was amazing.”

Springarm leaned in and muttered, “Man, I really hope this celebrity doesn’t die too.” Orion glared at him. “Right, sorry. Bad joke.” Then he stood up and swiped his hand across is neck back and forth, giving his brother the universal signal for  _ Cut it out _ . 

Wheelarch immediately backed off. “Right. Sorry. Welcome to the Stella of the Rust Valley Memorial Clinic.” It was an unofficial name, bestowed upon it by Crash. “What are you, um. Doing here?” 

Jazz produced a flash drive from her purse. “I got your message. Which one of you is Megatron?”

Megatron waved his hand. “Megatron here. That’s Orion. Unfortunately, since the message, our numbers have changed.”

“Well, they’re about to change a little more. I’m here to join you,” Jazz announced. 

Wheelarch’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “You’re  _ what?! _ ” 

“Well, I was donating to you guys for a long time. I couldn’t join straight away. I couldn’t just go missing, y’know. I’m a public figure.”

“That was  _ you?! _ ”

“That was me. I was donating as much as I could without anyone noticing, but my accountant—damn him straight to _Hell_ —did notice. And then my manager was all like, _Where’s that money going?_ And then she contacted a hacker— _my_ _fucking_ hacker—and blackmailed him into telling her. And then she went, _We can’t have Cybertron’s premiere music star openly donating to terrorist organizations_ , and then I went, _I wasn’t openly donating to terrorist organizations, I was donating quite covertly to terrorist organizations_. But she didn’t want to hear it. And more importantly, my damn record label didn’t want to hear it. So they said to me, either stop donating or be kicked off the label. So now I’m kicked off the label. And blacklisted. I’ll never sell another record again.” Her shoulders drooped. “So basically I need a place to stay.”

Orion stood up and shook her hand. “Thank you, Jazz. I mean that, sincerely. That money has pushed us through some rough times.”

She sighed. “Well, there won’t be any more of it. I mean, I still have some to contribute, but it’s not an infinite resource anymore.”

“Money’s not as big of an issue,” Orion assured her. “I’m wondering what you personally bring to the table. We did recently lose our propagandist.”

“Starbright?”

“Yeah.” 

“I knew her. Not well, but. She did once tell me she used to go by Stella. Anyhow, I could probably swing being a propagandist.” She grinned fiercely, and Orion liked her at once. “If there’s one thing I’m good at other than music, it’s improvising.”

Orion folded his arms. “You know, maybe we could use an improviser more than a propagandist. Megatron’s got the propaganda pretty covered. But we don’t necessarily have anyone who can figure shit out when everything’s falling apart.” 

“So I can stay here?” 

“Sure. We’ve got room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Jazz, you absolute ledge.


	26. Fear Death by Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're reaching the home stretch.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are fire, buildings burning, people getting horrifically burned, and an event that is ambiguously a suicide attempt and is discussed as such.

Come New Years, things calmed down a little. They pulled off routine heists, bought groceries, cleaned the bathrooms. RPG designed more weapons schematics than they’d ever use. Veritas did her best to salvage the flash drive, though it was difficult, monotonous, time-consuming work.

“I’ve gotten some things. Just daily logs of Shockwave’s activities, though. No word on a location,” she explained. “But they’re still alive. As of the date of our raid on the Petrex warehouse they’re still alive. And if Thyranotos kept them alive that long, they’re probably still alive now.”

Orion didn’t know if that was good news or bad news. “Anything else?” he asked.

“A bit of medical mumbo-jumbo I can’t make heads or tails of. You could have Knock Out take a look at it.” 

Orion shook his head. “No. I don’t really want to know.” And he left it at that. 

Over all, though, things were calm. They weren’t the same kind of easy they had been before Starbright had died. The pain of her death and Sketch’s absence didn’t heal so much as rust over. Speaking of rust, their gutters were beginning to fall apart from it. Winter rain came in off the ocean and didn’t stop. It was more rain than the city had seen in years, and the streets turned into rivers. Megatron and Orion ditched the dividers upstairs and pushed their beds together. They didn’t tell anyone about the change in their relationship, but they assumed everyone knew. Orion remembered when Wheelarch had teased him incessantly about Shockwave, but Wheelarch kept his jabs and his questions to himself now. Which Orion was grateful for, even if it made him a little sad. So much had changed these past years. 

One morning, RPG came scrambling down the stairs, tripping over her feet, halfway on all fours like a feral animal. Her hair was sticking out in every direction and she looked panicked, more panicked than he’d ever seen her. Her eyes were wide. She held her phone in one hand. Its screen was cracked. “We have to go to Paksa-Grazie,” she said. “I shouldn’t have stayed the night here, oh God.”

Megatron stood up swiftly from his place at the counter. “What’s going on?”

“I should’ve been there—I should’ve—it’s the repair shop. It’s burned down.”

In a moment they’d piled into Megatron’s car with Crash behind the wheel. Crash floored it, and they probably broke every traffic law known to man on the short drive from Downtown to Paksa-Grazie. There weren’t many cars in P-G. The streets were too narrow and crowded, and most residents couldn’t afford them. So Crash parked in an alleyway on Lime Street, and the gang got out and started hauling ass down the road toward Black Powder Repair and Refurbishment. 

Excerpt there was no Black Powder Repair and Refurbishment. There was nothing but a pile of blackened wood, melted metal, and crumbled cinder blocks, belching smoke and ash into the air. 

RPG collapsed to the ground on her hands and knees. She touched the pavement and then held her hand aloft. It was covered in gray powder. A girl about RPG’s age appeared behind her. It took Orion a moment to recognize her, but it was the Paksa-Grazie Information Broker. She looked different. She’d cut and bleached her hair, and she’d traded her metal/goth attire for something more understated. She pulled RPG to her feet. 

“Are you okay?” the P-GIB asked. 

“What  _ happened? _ ” RPG begged. 

“I don’t know.” The P-GIB was at a loss. She didn’t seem used to not knowing. “One minute everything was fine, the next minute Sideswipe was in my garage, telling me that Black Powder Repair was on fire. I called you as soon as I heard.”

“Where is he?”

“I saw—Sideswipe saw him. Before the fire. He was being arrested. I don’t know what for. They didn’t look like police.”

This was all sounding a little too familiar for Orion’s liking. “Miss, um, Miss Information Broker?”

“It’s Oracle,” she told him.

“Right. Oracle. What  _ did _ the people who arrested him look like?”

“They were dressed like soldiers. All in black. Armed to the teeth. They put him in handcuffs and stuffed him in a black van. According to Sideswipe it had a logo on it, but he said he didn’t recognize it. Here. I’ll try and draw it as he described.” She pulled a permanent marker out of her back pocket and began to draw on the back of RPG’s hand. “It kind of looked like a couple of triangles and an arrow pointing downwards?” She finished drawing. Orion sucked in a breath through his teeth and RPG cried out sharply. “Oh,” Oracle said. “It’s the Militech logo.” 

Sitting on the curb across from the smoldering remains of Black Powder Repair, RPG buried her head in her hands. “They took him back. They took him back. I wasn’t there and they took him back.” She whipped her head around towards Orion. “You said you’d protect him! You promised!” 

Orion ignored her for the moment, though the weight of another failure resounded in his chest cavity. It weighed down on his and cracked his ribs. He looked up at Oracle. “How did they find him?” he asked her. 

“I—” Oracle looked sheepish. “I don’t know for certain, but. A few weeks ago someone did come in asking about him. She was asking about both of you, actually.”

RPG looked up at Oracle now, fear in her eyes. “What did you tell her?”

“I—”

“ _ What did you tell her! _ ” RPG screamed. 

“Only a little! She asked about Rhodochrosite of Paksa-Grazie and I said that you lived above the shop. Everyone knows that, RPG, everyone! Then she asked who owned the shop, and I said Blackpowder did, and everyone knows that too. And then she left.”

Megatron, who had been silent up until that moment, asked, “Who was she?” 

Oracle shook her head. “I don’t know. She paid in money, not information, so I didn’t get her name. With information that readily accessible I accepted cash. She paid more than the info was worth, too. I didn’t recognize her, so she wasn’t native to the area. And she wasn’t dressed like anyone from Militech.”

Megatron cocked his head. “What  _ was  _ she dressed like?”

“Really weird. She had this big purple coat on and she wore these little horns on her head, which was  _ really  _ on the nose if you ask me, and I used to identify as ‘Cyber-Goth.’” 

Megatron screwed his face up in something between rage and despair. “Cyclonus.”

“Who?” Orion asked. 

“Galvatron’s right hand. Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Myriad’s involved.” 

“Why?” RPG asked, a new kind of despondency creeping into her voice. “We haven’t done anything to them. BP was approached by Onyx  _ years  _ ago, but we’ve heard nothing from them since then.”

“You and Blackpowder may not have done anything to the Myriad,” Megatron explained. “But  _ we  _ have. We, the Descenticons. We’ve stolen some of their personnel. So now Galvatron’s trying to steal ours.” 

“He’s doing more than steal them,” Orion pointed out. “Blackpowder could be in danger.” He turned to RPG. “What do you think they’ve done with him?”

RPG shook her head, grief-stricken. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think they killed him?”

“I don’t  _ know _ . He was smart. He did a lot of important stuff for them. I mean, if they were gonna kill him, why not just assassinate him out here? Why go through the trouble of kidnapping him and then burning down the shop? So no. Probably not.” 

Orion placed a hand on her shoulder. She tended and then pulled away. He didn’t try again. “Then we’ll find him.” 

Finding him was, of course, far, far easier said than done. Militech didn’t even have a centrally located campus like Thyranotos did. It had a corporate headquarters in Iacon Heights, a military base just north of the city in Staniz, and not one, not two, but  _ three  _ R&D facilities located in Lower Iacon, Paraíso, and Vos respectively. And that wasn’t even counting their numerous warehouses, retail outlets, or other properties, used or (seemingly) unused, that were located throughout the city. If Thyranotos was big, then Militech was gargantuan. 

It gave Orion a headache. All these maps and blueprints, visits to every information broker Megatron knew of, of which there were quite a few. Apparently there was supposed to be one in every district, though some were easier to find than others. A week passed, and he could sense RPG’s restlessness, anxiety, and frustration. She was angry with them, he knew; they’d promised to protect Blackpowder, after all. And they’d failed. Whenever she was in the room she lit up the air with a kind of electric heat, like something was burning under her skin. Before Blackpowder’s kidnapping, she’d largely given up her whole pyromania thing. But now it was back in full force, and Veritas kept dropping lighter after lighter on the fold out table upstairs. 

“I don’t know where she keeps getting them!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “She never leaves the house!”

There was a day when she set the entire stovetop on fire. They would’ve lost the whole kitchen had Crash not burst in with a fire extinguisher just in time.

“We should send her to a therapist,” Orion argued. 

“We don’t have the money,” Megatron told him. “Besides, she’d never agree to go. You know how she feels about doctors.” They weren’t sparring this time, because Veritas was with them and they didn’t have the energy for sparring much these days. 

“We have Jazz’s money now, and I think we need to help her get over her fear,” Veritas said. “What are we gonna do if she gets really sick? I don’t know what happened to her to make her this way, maybe she’s just a weird kid, but this is unsustainable. She’s going to hurt herself or someone else.”

Every interaction with her was fraught. She was so angry with them, and she seemed equally annoyed by Orion’s apologies and Megatron’s stony silence. If she wasn’t setting things on fire, she was yelling at Orion or Megatron or Veritas or anyone else in the room or she was giving them all the cold shoulder. The only one she seemed to be able to tolerate was Crash. He would sometimes juggle while she watched, rapt, or give her little things to keep her hands busy so she didn’t pick at her burns (which had become more numerous since Blackpowder’s kidnapping), or tell her funny stories from his Myriad days, though she never laughed. Between all of them they managed to maintain a taut, fragile stability while they worked on a way to rescue Blackpowder and keep their promise. 

Until one day. Orion had been in the house for too long, trying to narrow down the three research and development facilities to find which one they’d need to break into. That was probably where Blackpowder was. The only other option would be the military base, and breaking into that was a lost fucking cause. It was late. He was so tired, he was practically snoring into his coffee cup. He didn’t even like coffee. He missed his peppermint tea. Megatron shook him on his shoulder and said, “C’mon, we’re out of fruit juice, and you know Crash won’t drink anything else in the morning.” 

Everyone who lived at 211, sans RPG (who was hopefully asleep) and Veritas (who thought—and Orion was inclined to agree—that RPG shouldn’t be left alone in the house, asleep or not), joined them. Orion wanted tea and Megatron wanted baby carrots and Crash wanted fruit juice and Jazz wanted toaster strudel. 

“It’s my guilty pleasure snack,” she explained on their walk over to the 24-hour grocery store. “I used to go out to a different fancy restaurant every night, but nothing I ever had was as good as a two-shanix toaster strudel.” 

“I never asked, but what did your label do about you disappearing all of a sudden?” Orion asked.

Jazz shrugged. “Dunno. I assume they released a statement announcing my early retirement, but I haven’t been keeping track. Pop stars rise and fall all the time. Though, for all I know, they have a body double or a hologram or something lined up so that Jazz of Staniz can just keep releasing music.” 

Orion shuddered at the thought. 

The 24-hour grocery store was an oddly comforting location, and its deadening fluorescent lights soothed Orion’s nerves. Crash tucked enormous bottles of juice under his arm, Jazz picked out two boxes of twenty-four toaster strudels each, and Megatron put his chin on Orion’s shoulder as he picked out different brands of tea. Their relationship was only soft like this late at night or in the wee hours of the morning. Other times it was sharp or hard or, at best, slippery. It was true; they were often their best when they were at odds. Megatron would challenge Orion to think bigger, while Orion cautioned Megatron to slow down before someone got hurt. But the moments in which they were of one mind; it was then that they felt unstoppable. Megatron would tell the others what to do, while Orion told them why they should want to do it. Or vice versa. And then there were nights where they, exhausted, would climb into their conjoined beds, and just hold each other for a long while. 

Orion spied Crash watching them as he dropped a box of instant oatmeal packets into his grocery basket. Crash made a kissy face at him, then grinned. They rarely caught teasing from the others; they seemed to understand the intense nature of the relationship, especially in the wake of all that had happened, and that it wasn’t really something to make light of. But Crash broke that unspoken rule, then, and Orion shot him a reproving glare, which made him turn tail and dash into the next aisle. Orion didn’t really mind, though, in that moment. It felt natural to be teased, and so he smiled at Crash’s back.

“What is it?” Megatron asked sleepily.

“Nothing, dear,” Orion said. They weren’t really ones for pet names, but the word came before Orion could stop it, and Megatron didn’t seem to mind. 

At the checkout counter, the cashier asked for Jazz’s autograph, which she happily gave. They stepped out into the chilly night air, and Orion took a moment to look up at the stars when Jazz said, squinting at the horizon, “Is that smoke?” 

It was. And it was coming from the direction of 211. The four of them took off, booking it at top speed towards 211, their feet slamming the pavement and the cold air burning in Orion’s lungs.  _ This can’t be happening. It’s someone else’s house.  _ But it wasn’t someone else’s house. When they arrived before 211, it was on fire. Flames were leaping out its windows, smoke was billowing into the midnight sky, and, most horrifyingly, Veritas was kneeling on the sidewalk, curled around what looked to be a human form. 

“Veritas!” Orion cried, running up to her.

“Where’s Jazz,” she said. “She’s Trauma Team Gold. She needs to call an ambulance.”

“Is that—?”

“ _ Tell her to call a  _ fucking  _ ambulance, Orion! _ ” Veritas shouted, her voice cracking. A jet of flame leapt from one of the second floor windows, sending glass raining down upon them. The light from the fire illuminated the body Veritas was holding just enough for Orion to see who it was, though of course he’d already known. RPG was covered in burns and other open wounds, her shirt torn and stained with blood. Her clothing was singed and chunks of her hair were gone. She was breathing, but just barely. The rise and fall of her chest was slight and hitched. She coughed weakly. 

“Jazz,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “call an ambulance.” 

It had been a long time since Orion had been to the real hospital. He didn’t have Trauma Team ranking anymore, so he’d be denied care if he went, and, before Jazz, he didn’t know anyone else with ranking either. Even Starbright had given up her ranking in order to go off the grid. He sat in the waiting room, in between Megatron and Veritas, and didn’t say a word. 

Finally, Orion turned to Veritas and asked, “Did she—?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice full of anguish. “She set the fire, but I don’t know if it was an accident or not. What her intentions were.” So many questions left unasked and unanswered. Orion’s chest ached, a dry, rasping ache, like heartburn. He shoved his head between his knees and dry heaved for a little while. Megatron rubbed his hand up and down his back. How could things have gone so wrong? First Starbright, then Blackpowder, now this? And that wasn’t even counting Spectrum and Shockwave and Terminus and Bex. All those who had vanished or died before they’d become the Descenticons. 

RPG would live. But her legs and hands would never work the same again. It was already amazing what she’d been able to do with her previous burns, but now that was no longer an option. She’d be in and out of the hospital with skin grafts, and then,

“She’s being transferred to the Bellaire Psychiatric Institution,” Veritas said flatly. 

“ _ What?! _ ” Orion exclaimed. 

“She burnt our house down, ‘Rion. She’s had issues since we picked her up. Pyromania, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, likely ADHD or autism as well. We should’ve gotten her help ages ago.”

“But  _ institutionalization? _ ”

“What else do you wanna fuckin’ do, huh?” Veritas snapped. “I can’t protect her, you two  _ certainly _ can’t protect her, and with Blackpowder gone she has no one else. I’ll keep an eye on her while she’s being rehabilitated. I won’t let her get eaten by the system. But she’s fucked up, okay? And right now, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“And what about when she gets out?” Megatron asked quietly. 

“If we find Blackpowder, we send the two of them on their merry way.”

“And if not?”

“I take her. And I leave the city.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RPG was originally supposed to die here, in a similar situation to Starbright but more suicidal, but I decided to burn down 211 instead.


	27. Backtracking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only warnings for this chapter are lightly discussed sexual content and intense foreshadowing.

Though the fire had rendered 211 Monticello Avenue unlivable, it hadn’t destroyed everything. Bed frames and mattresses were salvageable, as were other pieces of furniture, cookware, and, most notably, Megatron’s and Starbright’s respective poetry journals. Regardless, moving back into 113 West James was a process, though Orion counted his lucky stars that Megatron hadn’t sold it. 

“Who the hell would I have sold the place to? It’s a dump,” he’d said. 

Even if it was a dump, it was their dump, and it was a roof over their heads while they worked out a more permanent solution. In the meantime, Megatron had turned his attention back towards the Myriad.

“If Galvatron wants a fight, he’ll have it,” he said.

“Aren’t we going to find Blackpowder?” Orion asked wearily, though he knew the answer. 

“We can’t,” Megatron said. “It would’ve been difficult before, but now that our maps and blueprints are all burnt up, it’s near impossible. Rescue missions from corporations just aren’t feasible for us. Not yet.”

Things were looking pretty dire. They had no propagandist. Skids, though talented, wasn’t nearly the forger Sketch had been. They had no weapons specialists. Knock Out was a mediocre doctor at best. Jazz had spent a lot of her money to pay for RPG’s treatment. Their base of operations was gone, and 113 was pretty cramped with everyone in it. It was okay at night when everyone went home, but when Roller, Springarm, Wheelarch, Knock Out, and the DNAgents were there it was almost unbearable. 

Another thing that had to be done was to find a way to continue the clinic’s operation. Megatron was distracted, so Orion led the charge. “We can clean out Ratchet’s place in the Dead End,” he said. “It’ll take some time, but it’s worth it. Besides, we can hang out there when we need more space.” 

That was what they ended up doing. Cleaning out the clinic after Thyranotos/the police had trashed it was a lot of work, but between the eleven of them it was easier. Orion found a kind of peace in sweeping the broken glass off the floor, even when he cut his hands and Knock Out had to patch him up with medical tape. Springarm and Veritas were placed in charge of sorting through Ratchet’s files, which was a pretty monstrous task, while Orion and Roller took to prying the wood off the windows so that new window panes could be installed. 

Outside the building, digging the back of a hammer under the nails pinning the wood to the window frames, Roller said, “So. Megatron, huh?”

“What about him?” Orion asked. He was back at 113, where he usually spent the day as opposed to helping out at the clinic. He said he was doing chores and such, because 113 was still just barely livable, but whenever Orion got home, nothing had changed. He supposed Megatron was just depressed. Fuck, they all were. 

“When did that all start?”

Orion didn’t want to pinpoint Starbright’s death as the catalyst for their relationship, even though it was. “The night The Urban Jungle opened. But you know, it'd sort of been building beforehand, and it’s fluxed and flowed since.”

“Ah. Springarm told me not to mention it, but he’s curious. We all are, to be honest.” 

Orion yanked the wood away from the wall, making it crack and splinter. “It’s not a secret or anything. It just _is_.”

“And how long do you think it’ll be that way?” Roller asked.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He pulled on another piece of wood, one that was proving to be particularly stubborn. “Hrrk—! Help me with this one.” 

Roller grabbed the wood and pulled, causing it to pop off into Orion’s hands. “It’s just that everything is crazy, you know?” Roller said. “And I like Megatron— _everyone_ likes Megatron, you can’t help it—but he’s changed since I’ve known him—since _you’ve_ known him.” 

“Not that much,” Orion protested. 

“I dunno, Big Guy. It’s like what happened to RPG barely affected him at all. And now he’s become all weird and detached.” 

“Everybody deals with grief differently.” 

“I guess you’d know better than I do.” Roller paused, staring at their handiwork. “One down, fuckin’...however many more to go.” Then he looked up at Orion. “So. How’s the sex?”

Orion responded by whacking him over the head with the wood. 

A moment later, Roller said, “Springarm and I got engaged.”

Orion dropped the hammer, and it narrowly missed falling onto his foot. “What? When?”

“A few nights ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Orion demanded. 

“Didn’t come up. Besides, I’m telling you now. We probably won’t actually get _married_ for a little while, you know we don’t have the time or resources for that. But. It’s nice to make our intentions official.” 

“Well, congratulations,” Orion said, going back to his work. But something turned in his stomach, and he wasn’t sure why. Springarm and Roller had been dating forever, and he used to ask them weekly when they’d start talking about marriage. But now? Everything was so different from how it had been, and it seemed wrong to commit to a relationship in that way. _Not that you can talk,_ Orion told himself. 

“Thank you,” Roller said. 

Orion was still pulling splinters out of his palms with his teeth by the time he got home. They were rubbing against his bandages from the glass cuts and it was awful. He was dead tired and his shoulders ached from ripping wood off windows all day. When he unlocked the door, Megatron was sitting at the table, looking at his tablet. And then, shockingly, a cat scurried up to Orion and began to rub itself against his legs. 

Megatron looked up. “Oh! I have some surprises for you all. Though I guess surprise number one is already ruined.”

“I’m surprise number two,” a woman added, striding out of the bathroom. She had blue hair and a pair of red mirrored sunglasses tucked into the collar of her shirt. Though it had been years, Orion recognized her instantly. 

“ _Soundwave?_ ” 

Megatron looked confused. “Do you two know each other?”

“Did I not mention that?” Soundwave asked. “He sent me to prison.” She scooped the cat out from between Orion’s legs. “Missile Launcher, come here. Looks like she has bad taste,” she remarked, looking sidelong at Orion. 

Megatron looked incredulously at Orion. “You sent the Paksa-Grazie Information Broker to prison?” he exclaimed. “How are you still alive?”

Soundwave shrugged. “Beats me. Guess the gangsters are getting sloppy, eh?”

“Hang on,” Orion said. “I’m really confused. First of all, I thought that Oracle was the Paksa-Gracie Information Broker? Second of all, why is she _here?_ ”

“I _was_ the Paksa-Grazie Information Broker, until I went to _prison_. Then Oracle took over. She’s my cousin.”

“And I invited her here to be our spymaster of sorts,” Megatron explained calmly. “She’s not the P-GIB anymore, so she isn’t beholden to the P-GIB’s position of neutrality, but she’s still the best spy there is. Would you like to explain to the class how your ears work?”

“Right,” Soundwave said, sitting on the table and plopping the cat— _Missile Launcher, Jesus Christ_ —into her lap. “I used to be deaf is the thing. That’s how I became the P-GIB in the first place: I could read lips. Then the old P-GIB gave me a gift. She set me up with these.” Soundwave tapped the wires coming out of her ears. “Very new, experimental tech, especially at the time. Allowed me to not only hear, but hear better than anyone else. I can sense when people are lying, their movements as long as they’re in the same building as me, and I can hear entire conversations from blocks away.”

“That sounds awful,” Jazz remarked. “How do you sleep?” 

Soundwave pulled a device from her back pocket. “This was a later addition from a Romeo friend. It allows me to tune out—or into—certain frequencies.” 

“That’s amazing,” Veritas breathed. “Can I see?” 

“Sure.” Soundwave handed her the device and Veritas examined it. 

“How does it work?” she asked. “Veritas, by the way.”

“Jazz,” Jazz introduced herself. 

“Crash,” Crash said.

Soundwave grinned. “Glad to meet you.” 

Orion sighed and pulled Megatron aside. “Is she staying here?”

“She just got out of prison. Where _you_ put her, mind you. She has nowhere else to go.” 

“We don’t have the room!”

“Well, we’re just gonna have to try.” 

Orion sighed again. “Megatron. Why is she here.”

“I told you, to be our—“

“Tell me the _truth_ , Megatron.”

“Fine. She knows a lot about the Myriad. She can help us get to Galvatron through his army of lackeys.” 

“I’m not interested in revenge!” Orion whisper-shouted. 

“Neither am I! I’m interested in preventing something like Blackpowder from happening again. No offense, ‘Rion, but you don’t know Galvatron like I do. Blackpowder was just the start. The fact that he had Cyclonus ask Oracle about RPG as well just tells me that he’s planning on going after everyone.”

Orion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did it have to be Soundwave? She hates me.”

“I’m sure you’ll both get over it.” 

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I know.” Then: “What happened to your hands?” He took Orion’s right hand in his and inspected it.

“Glass. Splinters. The clinic’s a mess.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there today. Soundwave just got out of jail and all she could talk about was that stupid cat.”

“I like the cat,” Orion told him. 

“Hm. I’m more of a dog person.”

“I’m breaking up with you.” 

Megatron looked up at Orion, surprise and upset written all over his face. Orion held his gaze before cracking up. “You seriously believed me? Oh my god.”

“Now who’s the asshole,” Megatron grumbled, headbutting Orion on the shoulder. “Come in our room, I have one more surprise for you. This is what I’ve really been working on all day.”

Their room had once been Megatron’s room, when he’d lived here alone. It contained very little. Initially, it had just been a twin sized mattress on a rickety metal bed frame and an even ricketier nightstand. They’d fleshed it out a little since then, bringing in the second bed from 211 so they could sleep together more comfortably and adding a table to the corner. Megatron had wanted to paint the walls purple, but Orion had forbade him.

“Why didn’t you paint the walls purple when you lived alone?” Orion had asked.

“I had no concept of what domesticity meant.”

Now, as Orion entered their shared space, he noticed something different. The walls were covered in tarps. “What’s going on here?” Orion asked.

“Well, it’s not done yet,” Megatron said. “Painting a room takes a really long time. A _really_ long time. But.” He pulled one of the tarps down dramatically. “Ta-da!”

The walls were painted, but not purple. They were blue, light blue, the color of the sky on a soft spring morning. But that wasn’t all. Down around the base of the wall, near the floor sand was painted. Sand, and a turquoise sea beyond. A yellow and white striped umbrella stuck out of the sand, abandoned on an empty, peaceful beachscape.

“I hope you like it. It was Sketch’s design, actually. We were going to paint the top floor of 211. But I figured it wasn’t too late to do something similar.”

Orion scooped Megatron in for a kiss. “I love it,” he said, breaking the kiss momentarily. Then he kissed Megatron again. 

The kiss gained heat much more quickly than Orion expected, their mouths opening against one another and Megatron pushing Orion into the door, causing it to slam all the way shut from its ajar position. 

“Now?” Orion asked, bemusedly, as Megatron began to kiss down his neck. “I promised Crash we could get burritos tonight.” 

“Ugh,” Megatron said by way of reply. “We probably shouldn’t.” He placed his head on Orion’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. They held each other for a long moment. 

“Later, though. After dinner.”

“After dinner,” Megatron agreed. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has.” Orion cupped Megatron’s face in his hands and kissed him again. “Too long.”

“Careful,” Megatron warned. “I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

“What’s the soundproofing like in here?”

“Bad. These walls are _paper_ thin.”

“Ah well. Shame. Guess the others will just have to deal. Do Soundwave’s ears turn all the way off?”

“For her sake, I hope so.” 

Speaking of Soundwave, at that moment they heard music start playing in the other room. “This owns,” they heard her say. “I know acoustic stuff isn’t usually your flow, but this is really good. Ignore the fact that it’s seven minutes long.”

“I’ll try,” they heard Jazz reply. 

“They seem to be getting along,” Orion noted.

“See? I told you everything would be okay,” Megatron said. They listened for a moment at the door to the song Soundwave was playing. It was acoustic, and started softly and built up, a harmony of guitars backing a soft-spoken male vocalist. 

 _“Wrapped up in dissonance/I’m sorry that I just walked away/Lost in the insignificance of mine/I had no words to say,”_ he sang. 

“Pretty,” Orion said.

“Dance with me,” Megatron said.

“What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated, imploring a little. “Can you?”

“Of course, but. Why now?”

“What can I say? The mood has struck me.”

Orion didn’t really need any convincing. The mood had suddenly struck him, too. He put his hand on Megatron’s shoulder and they began to waltz slowly around the tiny bedroom to the muffled sound of the music through the wall. It had a lovely, lilting tune that flowed like waves onto a beach. 

 _“Hold it in dear, let’s go dancing/I do believe we’re only passing through/Wired again now look who’s laughing/Me again, all fired up on you,”_ the singer crooned. Orion laughed softly and pressed his forehead into Megatron’s neck, letting the weight of the past few months slide off of him. Everything was terrible, but at least he had love. 

And love didn’t hurt.


	28. Crash, Shatter, Snap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter are minor implications of alcoholism, a brief discussion of RPG's maybe-suicide attempt from two chapters ago, a car accident, injury, and character death. Heed the graphic depictions of violence warning for this chapter in particular.

And maybe love didn’t hurt, but RPG’s absence did. There was so much loss that hung between the walls of 113 West James Street, and even Soundwave, who’d been present for none of it, took notice. She was remarkably perceptive, ears or no ears. Still, she seemed to be settling in just fine, even if she consistently gave Orion the cold shoulder. Orion figured he’d just have to accept it. She and Jazz, in particular, got along well, bonding over their shared love of music. 

“How is she friends with Jazz when I’m not?” Wheelarch grumbled.

“Because she doesn’t almost pass out whenever Jazz walks in the room,” Springarm teased, elbowing his brother in the ribs. 

Despite Soundwave’s contempt towards Orion, Missile Launcher did not feel the same way. Orion appreciated it. He’d had a cat when he was in training, a scrappy little thing named Curie, but he’d been forced to give her to Elita when he’d moved, as his old apartment hadn’t allowed pets. And when they’d broken up, Elita had gotten Curie. Even though Curie had always liked Orion more. She’d always won all of their arguments. 

Missile Launcher was a beautiful black cat, friendly and bright-eyed, and one day Orion walked in on Soundwave feeding her little slices of smoked salmon. In what was partly an attempt to connect with Soundwave despite their rocky start and partly an attempt to get to know that cat, he asked, “Why Missile Launcher?”

Soundwave shrugged. “It’s funny. Before I got arrested I had this cat I named Sabertooth, which was ironic because he was a sweetheart. But then he died while I was in jail. So. I decided to continue the tradition of dumb, edgy cat names.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You should be,” Soundwave told him. 

“Can I sit?”

“I can’t stop you.” 

Orion sat and began to pet Missile Launcher. She purred under his touch. “She’s getting kind of fat,” he noted, amused. “Maybe you should lay off the salmon.” 

Soundwave actually smiled at that, her gaze on the cat unexpectedly tender. “I actually think she’s pregnant.”

Orion’s eyes widened. “No way.”

“I can’t be sure. I don’t really have the money for a vet visit at present, but yeah. She’s gonna be a momma.” 

Orion scritched her between the ears. “A little cat momma.” He looked over at Soundwave and stuck out his hand. “Truce?”

Soundwave shook her head. “We were never at war, Orion.” But she shook his hand anyway. 

Perhaps Megatron had been right about Soundwave. She was a wealth of information, and her presence buoyed the rest of them. She and Jazz bonded over music, she swapped stories with Crash, she took the piss out of Knock Out and talked movies with Springarm, Wheelarch, and Roller. Even the DNAgents, as cautious as they were, liked her. She shared something with them after all. Her ears were like their own version of a superpower. 

“Do you think that everyone will have implants like yours soon?” Glitch asked. He spoke to her from the other side of the room, because if he touched her he might break them. 

“It looks like it,” she said. “Cybernetics are cropping up all over Iacon Heights and Paraíso, and they’re getting cheaper by the day. Raven’s a real pioneer. Ears aren’t so popular, though. It’s  _ eyes  _ that are all the rage. Imagine being able to have internet access built into your body.”

Windcharger shuddered. “Weird.”

The only one whose spirits weren’t lifted was Veritas. She buried herself in every job Megatron or Orion gave her, from sorting through Ratchet’s files to hacking what Megatron thought was Cyclonus’ personal bank account. It was clear she missed RPG terribly. In the weeks after the fire, with RPG still in intensive care, she was allowed no visitors. No visitors that weren’t immediate family, anyway. And none of them were. She didn’t have any. The closest thing she’d ever had to a father was gone, sucked into Militech’s impenetrable black hole. Veritas had tried to play mother, or at least older sister, but she’d failed. Or at least, Veritas thought she’d failed.

She’d confessed this to Orion one late night on the stairs out front of 113. She was drunk. Orion had only seen her drink alcohol once before, on the night they’d first met, and even then she’d still been sober. But now drunk Veritas was a common occurrence, especially on the deep ends of torn up evenings. 

“I failed,” she said. “I failed Spectrum and Sketch and RPG. I wanted to get back at Thyranotos for everything they’ve done, but what does that matter now? Everything I hold dear is gone.” She let her head fall, her beer bottle hanging loosely between her fingers. 

“We need you, Veritas,” Orion said quietly. It was the only thing he could say. He’d tried saying everything else.  _ Don’t give up, nobody blames you, you’re doing the best you can,  _ but none of it ever stuck. 

“I got a call from the hospital last night. RPG’s out of the ICU. She’ll be allowed visitors starting tomorrow.”

“Then we should go.”

“I—Orion I  _ can’t _ .”

“Why not? I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. She must get pretty lonely.”

“I can’t face her. Not yet. ‘Rion, I—I held her body in my arms. I thought she was  _ dead.  _ She set that fire under my watch.” She patted Orion on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go. Tell me how she’s doing.”

“I—okay. If you say so.” 

It ended up being only Orion and Crash who went. Everyone else was busy or simply hadn’t known RPG very well. Orion had hoped that Megatron would come, or that he’d be able to talk Veritas into coming.

“If you can’t get her to go,” Megatron had said, “then I certainly can’t. She’s always liked you better.” 

Orion had almost argued, but Megatron had been right. Veritas  _ did  _ like him better. But it was fair, because Crash and Knock Out and Soundwave all liked Megatron better. So had RPG, Sketch, and Starbright. It was like having a favorite parent. 

In the present, he and Crash sat in a sterile waiting room on uncomfortable plastic chairs. They’d taken the rust bucket truck there, because all the other cars were in use, and parked it on the street a couple blocks away from the hospital. Orion hated hospitals, especially this one. Not that he spent much time in any others. Everyone here was so cold, smiling with nothing behind their eyes, and the hallways smelled of antiseptic and death. The patients were little more than ghosts, the doctors little more than gravestones. Orion’s chest ached like his lungs were full of smoke. 

RPG was awake when they were finally allowed in. Awake, lying on her back, stiller than he’d ever seen her. She breathed in, then out, and said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Crash replied. “How’re you holding up.”

“I—I don’t know,” she said. “They say I’m getting better, but I don’t feel any better. Where’s Veritas?”

“She’ll be here next time,” Orion assured her. “I’ll tell her you asked about her.” 

There was a long silence. “I’m being sent to Bellaire come summertime.”

“I know,” Orion said. 

“I want to be mad, but I don’t have the energy.” Her voice was hollow and raspy. “And maybe—maybe it’s for the best. I’ve been worse places.”

Orion leaned his elbows on his knees. “Did you mean to set that fire?” No use beating around the bush. 

She closed her eyes. “Yes—no. Maybe. I don’t know. I meant to do something, but I’m not sure what. I’m not sure I wanted to die, but I don’t think I wanted to be alive, either. I definitely didn’t mean to burn the whole house down. I just meant to—I don’t know what I meant to do.”

Another silence, even longer and more awkward than the first. Finally Crash said, “Are you over your fear of doctors now?”

“I was never afraid of them, I just didn’t like them. I still don’t,” RPG said. “The doctors here are—they’re fine. Not as bad as others I’ve run into. But I don’t like them as much as Knock Out.”

Orion smiled. “I’ll tell him you said that.” 

When they left RPG’s room, she was asleep. She slept a lot these days, she told them. Not much else to do. She hadn’t looked good. Her burns glared bright pink against her pale skin and her head was still shaved. She’d looked tired. Still, it was better than the half dead mess he’d seen on that night outside the burned corpse of 211, as the EMT’s pulled her shattered form from Veritas’ arms.

Orion didn’t notice anything wrong with the car when they got to it. He offered to drive. “You always drive,” he said to Crash. “Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

Crash shook his head and grinned. “Never. I was born to drive. But if you insist.” And he tossed Orion the keys. 

Orion wasn’t a bad driver. He just hadn’t had cause to in a while, what with Crash chauffeuring everyone everywhere. Still, it felt normal to be driving. Like the past three and a half years hadn’t happened. He pulled out onto the main road that cut through Downtown and pushed down on the accelerator. He didn’t notice anything wrong with the car until a few minutes after they’d gotten up to speed and they were approaching a red light. He took his foot off the gas and moved towards the brakes. But nothing happened. The car didn’t slow down, not even a little. 

“Uh, Orion?” Crash said, worry creeping into his voice. “That light’s red.”

“I know.”

“Then slow down!”

“I’m trying! Crash, it’s the brakes—the brakes aren’t working!” They weren’t working.  _ They weren’t working.  _ Orion slammed down on them hard, but to no avail. “Crash, what the fuck do I do?”

“Turn!” Crash shouted. “Try not to hit anyone else!” 

Orion jerked the steering wheel to the right, sending them hurtling off the side of the road. “The seatbelts in here don’t work!” he reminded Crash, because they didn’t. He screwed his eyes shut. 

“Open your eyes!” Crash’s voice was distant and strained. Was it Crash’s voice? It only half sounded like him, but there was no one else in the car. “We’re gonna crash!”

_ How fucking ironic— _ and that was the last thought Orion had before the car slammed into a light pole, sending both of its occupants hurtling through the windshield. The glass shattered around Orion, scoring his skin. He curled up into a ball as he soared through the air, wrapping his arms around his head, and pressing his knees into his chest. He hit the ground elbow first, the shock and pain of the impact sending comets streaking across his field of vision. He felt a terrible crack, the feeling of his radius and ulna breaking from the elbow down. His knees scraped across the ground, the glass from the windshield digging through his pants. His head slipped from between his arms and slammed against the ground. 

It might have been years before he came to. Though it might have only been seconds. Either way, Orion was still in excruciating pain when he woke up. His arm was numb with it. His legs felt like paper with thousands of tiny holes punched in it. His head rang, his brain vibrating between his ears. But none of it mattered, because on the other side of the now demolished rust bucket truck, Crash lay limp, his broken body wrapped around the streetlight.

With Herculean effort, Orion pushed himself onto his hand and knees, keeping his broken arm tucked against his chest. And then he crawled, slowly, agonizingly, towards Crash. “Crash,” he said, his voice thick and raspy with pain. The glass was cutting his palms to lace. “Crash,” he said again. Crash didn’t move.  _ Oh, god.  _ Blood had pooled around his head, turning his light hair a deep maroon color. Orion finally made it to Crash’s side. He grabbed the boy and pulled him to him, but Crash didn’t respond at all. His chest wasn’t moving. His neck was twisted at a terrifying angle. Blood stained his face. It had collected in his goggles, obscuring his eyes. Orion pulled off Crash’s goggles and wiped the blood away. His eyes were open and his gaze was blank. 

“ _ Oh, god, _ ” Orion whispered, his voice breaking. He cradled Crash’s body—his  _ corpse _ —in his arms. What were they going to do now? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the incidents with RPG and Crash were so close together. It was by design--meant to feel relentless.


	29. Event Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter are: an onscreen murder, appropriate reactions to that murder, and some light sexual content.

It was Kup who provided the answer, though she didn’t emerge until several days after the crash. When Orion finally made it back to 113, he collapsed on the ground and choked on his own saliva while Knock Out put his arm into a cast and pulled the shards of glass from his skin. Megatron held onto his left hand—his good hand—and said nothing. After Orion had been patched up, he dry heaved into the toilet for a little while, trying to vomit, but nothing came. He felt lost. And so, so alone. 

When evening came and he was curled up against Megatron’s chest, his whole body still wracked with pain, he whispered, “The brakes were cut. Someone cut them.”

“I know,” Megatron said.

“Galvatron has to—we have to do  _ something _ .”

“I know.” 

It was what Megatron had been saying since Blackpowder, but Orion hadn’t wanted to listen before. Taking out their rage on someone who wasn’t involved in Cybertron’s higher-level corruption had seemed pointless before, but now? It had become clear that Galvatron wouldn’t stop targeting them until they made him stop. Orion had never had a thirst for revenge. Or perhaps he just thought it was best served cold. Even after Thyranotos took Shockwave, his only goal had been to retrieve them, not destroy the company that had taken them in the first place. But now, confrontation was not only a viable option, but the most logical one. 

But how would they get to Galvatron? Megatron had known where he lived, and where the central base of Myriad operations had been, but that was four years ago. If Galvatron was as smart as everyone claimed, he would have moved as soon as he realized Megatron couldn’t be easily disposed of. Megatron was a loose end. And Soundwave had been in jail for nearly as long as Megatron had been a free agent, so she didn’t know either. They’d have to start asking around. 

Fortunately, they didn’t have to. It had been a long time since Orion had laid eyes on Kup. She looked older. Out from behind the bar at the Pinhook, she looked taller, too. She was nearly Orion’s height. It was impressive. 

“Everyone involved with the Myriad knows Galv’s got it out for you,” she told them. “I mean, he’s had it out for you, Megatron, since you left, but now he has it out for all of you. He’s trying to pick apart your little group piece by piece. I told him. I texted Arcee and I told her to tell him that if he laid a finger on Crash he’d have another thing coming. But either she didn’t tell him or he didn’t listen.”

Megatron folded his arms and said, “And?”

“The main hideout is at 602 Garrett Road in Lower Iacon. Galvatron is there most days from ten am to eleven pm, but most guards have gone home or are asleep by nine pm. His house is 2701 West Club Boulevard, unit 22-B, one of the penthouses, and it’s wired to the teeth with security, but most of it is technological, alarms and traps and such, and can be disabled. He’s there whenever he’s not at the hideout. But no matter what, you’ll have to contend with Cyclonus and Arcee. They’re never not with him.”

Megatron scoffed. “I can handle Cyclonus and Arcee.”

The heist was rushed. More rushed than any they’d planned before. Veritas figured out how to remotely hack the security on Galvatron’s apartment, (“I’m not coming with,” she said. “No way.”), they acquired a gun that Orion could use with one hand (they weren’t waiting for his arm to heal), and they picked out their team: Jazz, Orion, Roller, Springarm, Wheelarch, Megatron. 

Soundwave slung an arm around Veritas’ shoulder. “I’ll stay here with V and make sure nothing happens to her.”

Veritas shrugged her off. “Don’t flirt with me.”

Soundwave hadn’t been flirting, but the casual affection was enough to put Veritas off. 

The night of the heist came just a few days after Kup showed up at their door. Spring had arrived, and Orion could feel the heat of summer looming on the horizon. They took Megatron’s car, the six of them stuffed into it like sardines. It was a quiet ride, and a short one. The apartment building was the nicest thing in Lower Iacon; it towered above the other buildings. It was also dead silent. Few of the windows were lit up. The street in front of it was bereft of cars. 

A text came from Veritas.  _ Buzzing you in now,  _ it read. There was no one in the building’s lobby. And no one on the stairs. No one in the hallway outside the penthouse.  _ Opening the front door,  _ Veritas texted. 

The confrontation with Galvatron was always going to be noisy, but Orion hadn’t expected it to get so noisy so soon. As soon as the door opened, they were face to face with a woman: olive skin, wavy hair, staring at them in utter shock.  _ This must be Cyclonus.  _ She was wearing the horns Oracle had described. She flipped into action, lunging at them with remarkable speed and ferocity. She carried no weapons, but she wore claw-like apparatuses on her fingers, and she slashed Megatron across the chest with them, sending blood spraying everywhere. He stumbled backwards into Orion, who pushed past him and clocked Cyclonus across the face. Between the six of them, Cyclonus was dealt with quickly.

But not quietly. By the time Jazz had her pinned to the wall with a gun to her head, Galvatron was standing in front of them, alerted by the sound of the scuffle. Orion had never seen him in person before. He was younger and shorter than he looked in photos. 

“Megatron,” Galvatron said. “You and your Decepticons are in my apartment.”

Five guns pointed in his direction. “Descenticons,” Megatron corrected.

“Whatever. Can I ask what you’re doing here.”

“Galvatron—“ Cyclonus said from the wall.

“Ah, yes. You’re right, Cyclonus. I already know. This is about Crash, isn’t it? Poor boy, shame he had to get caught up in all this. I told Kup—I assume it was Kup who told you where I’m shacking up these days?—I told Kup, I warned her: don’t let your boy get involved with Megatron, it won’t end well for him.”

“It’s also about Blackpowder and RPG,” Orion said.

Galvatron’s face lit up. “You must be Orion Pax. I’ve heard so much about you. The ex-cop who finally figured out that there was something rotten in the state of Cybertron. And you’re referring to—ah yes, the ex-Militech mechanic and his pet firebug. Now that was certainly an exciting turn of events! Thermite had it coming, you know; you can’t just  _ run away  _ from Militech, and you certainly can’t do it forever. He was going to get caught eventually, I just expedited the process. Really, you can barely blame me for that one. I wasn’t even aiming for him. I wanted to see what could be done about the girl, and found him to be an easier target.” 

Megatron strode forward, grabbed Galvatron by the shoulder with a powerful hand, and, the gun still trained on his head, forced him to his knees. “Would you like to keep talking, Galvatron?” he asked, his voice icily calm. It was at that moment that Orion realized that he didn’t want to kill Galvatron. He knew they should. He knew they needed to. But he didn’t want to. He’d never killed anyone before. No one had ever been killed on any of the Descenticon heists, not even the ones where RPG and her weapons were involved. He knew Megatron had killed before, but it had only ever been out of necessity, and never in a fit of rage. Orion didn’t want that to change. 

Galvatron, too, apparently noticed the deadly seriousness in Megatron’s voice and actions. “Listen, Megatron. Perhaps we can come to some kind of agreement.”

“Perhaps,” Megatron said. He didn’t move. 

“We were friends once, weren’t we? You served the Myriad well. Maybe I could serve you, or serve your cause. We have money, we have people. I’m sure Cyclonus would be willing to help. She’s a skilled fighter.”

Cyclonus didn’t say anything. She and Orion made eye contact. A kind of stoic fear gripped her features. “Megatron,” Orion said. “Don’t do anything rash.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Orion,” Megatron said, his voice impassive. 

Galvatron could sense Megatron’s immovability. “Please, why don’t you have mercy? Isn’t there anything you want?” There was desperate edge to his voice. 

Megatron chuckled darkly. “You who are without mercy now plead for it? And as for what I want—” Megatron pressed his gun to Galvatron’s forehead and shot him, point blank. “—I want Crash and Blackpowder back, you son of a bitch.” 

“No!” Orion shouted, but not because Galvatron was dead. He shouted because he didn’t like the look on Megatron’s face as he’d killed him. It was so  _ cold _ , like an arctic wind. He looked detached. It was frightening, and Orion had never been frightened of Megatron before. 

At the same time as Orion’s shout, a screech came from down the hall. Orion thought that it was Cyclonus, but she hadn’t moved. She just stared in abject silence. But Orion hadn’t noticed the other woman in the room.  _ Ah. That must be Arcee.  _ She lunged at Megatron, a knife in her hand, and pressed it to his throat. 

“I’m not sorry, Arcee,” Megatron said, though he dropped his gun and held his hands up. His face was stony, his jaw clenched.  

Arcee only hissed in response, though she didn’t move to slit Megatron’s throat. 

Orion was so tired. He cocked his gun and pressed it to the back of Arcee’s head. “Enough.” He didn’t want to kill her, but he would to save Megatron’s life. He would, without hesitation. And that scared him too. “I think you should go.”

Arcee didn’t move or react to the gun against her head. She only said, “Cyclonus?” 

Cyclonus’ voice and expression were unreadable. “I think we should go.” And then, with guns to their backs, the two of them walked out the front door. 

Overall, the mission should’ve been a success. There were no major injuries, Galvatron was dead, and Cyclonus and Arcee were gone. But Orion couldn’t help but feel as if they’d crossed some invisible line, passed some unknown event horizon. He was terrified, and angry, and Arcee’s cry as she watched her brother collapse to the ground, dead, rang in his ears. Once he was back in their room, he turned to Megatron and said, “Tell me we did the right thing.”

Megatron looked surprised. “As opposed to what? Was I  _ not  _ supposed to kill him? I thought the plan was that we were going to kill him.” 

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. He killed Crash. He turned Blackpowder in. He was going to do the same to RPG. And after her—who next? Soundwave? Jazz? Me? You?  _ Roller?  _ We’ve lost too many friends.” 

“I get it, I just—we’ve done something we can’t undo.”

“Crash’s death can’t be undone, Orion! None of it can be undone! We put things out into the world, and we can’t take them back!” Megatron shouted. “We do big things, we try and make big changes, and those have consequences! We make choices, we make sacrifices, and we reach our goal.”

“Is that how your justifying everything that’s happened?” Orion asked. “Sacrifices?” 

“Not Galvatron, obviously, but Crash? Starbright? RPG? All of them sacrificed their comfort and safety to be a part of our group—Starbright in particular sacrificed  _ her life _ for ours.” Megatron reached out, and pulled Orion into an embrace. “It’ll all be worth it. It will be worth it or I’ll die trying.”

Orion tensed in his arms, but didn’t pull away. “How many more, Megatron? How many more sacrifices will be made?”

Megatron didn’t answer, so Orion just sighed and leaned his head on Megatron’s shoulder. This was a conversation he just couldn’t have tonight. So instead he said, “You scared me.” 

“Why? I wasn’t in any danger. I had it under control.”

“I wasn’t scared  _ for _ you, I was scared  _ of  _ you. The light in your eyes—it. It wasn’t there.”

“Oh.” That seemed to trouble Megatron. “Is it there now?”

Orion looked up at his partner. He nodded. 

“Good,” Megatron said. “Would you really have killed her? If it meant saving me? Or even just avenging me?”

“Yes.”

Megatron laughed softly. “Then you scare me too.” He pulled his arms tighter around Orion’s shoulders and the two of them rocked back and forth on their feet. “You don’t need to be scared of me, Orion, not ever. I’d rather die than hurt you.” 

Orion wanted very badly to be comforted by Megatron’s words, wanted very badly to believe him. But something in his voice rang hollow, and he didn’t know what it was. So he acted on the first impulse that came to mind, the only impulse that ever came to mind: he kissed Megatron. Hard. 

The sex that night was intense and ardorous. Electricity bounced between their skin. Orion had read a book once in which a woman had sex with her lover in their burning house. They’d both died in their bed, ecstatic and in love. He tried to assess, if he died right now, whether or not he’d die happy. He couldn’t come to a firm conclusion. On top of him, Megatron bit into his shoulder. He saw stars. 

Yeah. He’d die happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Just realized that I had mislabeled chapters in my Google doc. This fic actually has 34 chapters, not 35!


	30. The Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter, only warnings are for mentions of sexual content. 
> 
> Sorry for missing posting on Thursday. I just started back up at school and the time got away from me.

The next few months passed similarly. The Descenticons found themselves with very little to do, aside from maintaining their standard of living and keeping the clinic up and running, which was work in and of itself. “What’s our next move?” Soundwave kept asking. She was clearly getting antsy. But Megatron didn’t have an answer for her, and Orion certainly didn’t either. Really, their next move should have been looking for a new location. Even with Crash gone it was still tight. But they just didn’t have the heart. 211 had been home, and it felt wrong to replace it. Sometimes Megatron spoke in the abstract about trying to rebuild it rather than find a new place, but whatever his lofty goals were, they were a long way off. 

True to Kup’s prediction, they never heard from Cyclonus or Arcee. The two women had disappeared, vanished like ghosts into the mists. 

A few days after Galvatron’s death, Orion had asked Megatron, “What’s going to happen to the Myriad now that Galvatron’s gone?”

Megatron shrugged. “I can’t say for certain.”

“Make an educated guess.”

“Cyclonus and Arcee are smart and capable, but they’re not really leader material. Hell, they’re not really crime syndicate material at all. They’re both too honorable. I suspect they would never have been involved in any of this if they hadn’t known Galvatron. And no one else in the Myriad will be able to seize control. No one else has enough weight to throw around. Oh, some will try, certainly, but they’ll all step on each other’s heads and none of them will succeed. Then the Myriad will dissolve, leaving the Romeos as the most powerful syndicate in the city.”

“Wow,” Orion remarked. “And who leads that again?” 

“They change out leaders every six months. They’re a very chaotic group, but a surprisingly effective one. Their power comes from numbers. For every dead Romeo there are seven more behind them. So many desperate and destitute in Paksa-Grazie.” 

“Do you know who their leader is right now?” 

“Uh, last I heard it was some woman named Slipstream. But who’s to say.”

“Who’s to say,” Orion agreed. 

After that, they didn’t talk about Galvatron or Megatron killing him or their subsequent argument. Orion didn’t like fighting with Megatron in such an intense way, and they hadn’t sparred in nearly a year. 113 didn’t have the room. And yet, they still fought constantly. Over everything, from who would make dinner to whether they’d let a drunk Trailbreaker sleep on Crash’s old mattress on the floor again to what neighborhood their new house would be in. Assuming they’d ever get a new house. They fought almost as much as they fucked, which definitely gave the house a weird energy, everyone giving them side-eyes in the morning. 

Soundwave was the only one who ever brought it up, and even then just the once. “Can you give it a rest?” she asked, dumping brown sugar into her oatmeal one morning. “I would like to not have to turn my ears off for just one fucking night. I can only imagine how Jazz and Veritas are holding up.” 

In June, Missile Launcher gave birth to her kittens. There were four of them. Three were brown tabbies, the fourth was sleek and black like his mother. 

“Sawtooth, Behemoth, Trampler, and Ravage,” Soundwave introduced them as they crawled all over her lap, mewing and clinging to her shirt with their tiny, pin-like claws. She picked up the black one, Ravage, and cuddled him close to her face. “I think I’m going to keep him. The others I’ll do my best to find homes for.” 

Ravage didn’t like Orion as much as his mother. He must’ve taken his cues from Soundwave, rather than Missile Launcher. He hissed whenever Orion came near, which Soundwave encouraged by giving him a treat or a kiss on the head whenever he did so. In fact, Ravage seemed to like Megatron most, much to Megs’ chagrin. 

“I’m allergic to cats,” Megatron complained as Ravage clambered up his pant leg.

“You are not,” Orion sniped. 

“Pssh, you’re just mad because he likes me and not you.” Megatron’s words were playful, but Orion wasn’t in the mood. He was never in the mood these days. 

“I’m not! You are such a fucking asshole.”

“Why don’t you two go fuck about it,” Soundwave sighed, snatching Ravage away from Megatron. “Don’t steal my cat.” She pulled on Megatron’s ear. “You have such terrible taste.” 

“In what?” Megatron asked.

“Everything. But especially men.” 

Orion sighed. He wasted all his fight energy on Megatron, and thus never had any left over for Soundwave. Besides, she almost always won their arguments. “You put me in jail” tended to shut things down pretty quickly. 

And those were the days. They weren’t painful, exactly, just exhausting. And repetitive. Every morning and every evening was the same. Until one night Veritas came out of her room looking more tired than Orion had ever seen her. 

“What is it?” he asked.

She smiled distantly, her eyes glazed over with sleep, her expression desolate. “I did it,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice. “I found Shockwave.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ravage's siblings were named after Machines from the game Horizon Zero Dawn. I suspect that Ravagers (another Machine) were named after Ravage the Transformer, as they are both catlike robots.


	31. Guns + Ammunition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only warning for this chapter is a dream sequence that features medical abuse. 
> 
> And since I've started school, I'm shifting down my update schedule to once a week. Three more chapters left! I've also marked this as a series. The sequel is a lot less linear, I guess, than Die Happy, so I don't know when that'll be out. Hopefully I'll start posting it by the end of the year.

“I decoded what I could of the drive you got from the warehouse, but the most I could find was a room number,” Veritas explained. “And what good is a room number without knowledge of where the hell that room is? But it wasn’t just a number—it was a number and a letter: 21 RC-U3. But what’s RC-U3? I looked at a map of the Thyranotos campus and boom! RC stands for the Research Center.”

“What about U3?” Orion asked.

“That’s what I was wondering. I had a suspicion, though: U stands for underground. Thyranotos has a basement, of course. It’s how Spectrum got in a lot of the time. But not much is down there, just the HVAC and the furnace and laundry and janitorial supplies. So I thought, what if there’s something else, even farther below that? I know a secret underground base sounds outlandish, but four years ago secret genetic engineering experiments in which the world’s leading biotech company is  _ literally _ creating superheroes sounded outlandish, and look where we are now.”

“We have seen a lot of shit,” Orion agreed. 

“Exactly. But I had to confirm my suspicion, so I went to Thyranotos—”

“Hang on,  _ by yourself? _ ”

Veritas scoffed. “Of course not. I brought Wheelarch and Windcharger with me.”

“ _ You brought Windcharger with you? _ They’re trying to kidnap her!”

“She asked to go along! She says she’s been bored out of her mind lately. Besides, she wore a disguise, and she’s fine now. She and Wheelarch distracted the people at the front desk of the Research Center while I snuck around. I didn’t have to go very far, though, because I found an elevator behind the desk, a different elevator from the one marked on the maps of the building. And this one didn’t go up. It  _ only  _ went down. ‘Course, you needed a key card to activate it, so then I went  _ back _ —”

“You went  _ twice?! _ ”

“I had to be sure! I couldn’t get down the elevator, and I wouldn’t even if I could, but I did manage to get inside the elevator. There were four buttons: G, B, U1, U2, and U3. So, Shockwave’s in room 21 on level U3 under the Research Center.” 

“Then we go get them,” Orion said, much more decisively than he felt.  _ It’s just been so long.  _

To add to his complicated feelings, Veritas reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. “Orion, wait—I just—I think you should know something. I know you didn’t want Knock Out to look at the records on exactly what was done to Shockwave, but. I couldn't help it. I got curious. I mean, Spectrum was down there for a while and I had to know what could’ve been done to her had she not gotten out in time. And you—you should just be prepared. They might be different from how you remember them.”

Orion shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They could be a mass murderer now for all I care. We’ll deal with that once they’re out of there.” 

The plan was complex. It needed to be. They needed all hands on deck. Orion had started sketching out the plans sans the DNAgents of first. They would be going into Thyranotos, into the belly of the beast, and the DNAgents would be the most at risk. 

But once Orion started discussing the plan with the group, Skids said, “We’ll come, of course we’ll come, so long as rescuing Shockwave isn’t the only goal. We appreciate everything they did for us, but it’s a huge risk.”

So two secondary goals were added: destroy more research and free as many prisoners as possible. Which meant that everybody needed to be involved. Two destinations, two groups with those destinations in mind. Working from the outside in, Skids and Glitch would break into the security room and take down anyone within. Glitch would attempt to use his powers to suppress the alarms. He and all the DNAgents were getting better at controlling their abilities, but it was still dicey at times. The one thing he was sure he could do was set off his EMP, disabling all power in the building. That would be a last resort.

Meanwhile, Skids would work in tandem with Veritas to get them through any physical barriers. He’d patch blank footage over the security cameras so they could be in and out without a trace. He’d bounce code back and forth with Veritas so that, between the two of them, they could get everybody where they needed to go without a high-level access key card. Veritas would be working from off-site. 

The ground team was made up of Windcharger, Trailbreaker, Orion, Megatron, Springarm, Wheelarch, Roller, and Jazz. Soundwave would drive. She’d also handle communication, holding onto the central modem for the earpieces they’d use to talk to one another. Within the ground team, there were two smaller teams: Windcharger, Trailbreaker, Springarm, Jazz, and Wheelarch would search the upper levels of the building for any research they could find and destroy, while Roller, Orion, and Megatron would head down and look for Shockwave. Shockwave would be the priority, but anyone else they found down there who could walk would be freed as well. 

But they still needed to prepare. Especially the DNAgents. Especially Glitch, Windcharger, and Trailbreaker. 

“Can you stop a projectile?” Megatron asked Windcharger. 

“You mean a bullet? I’ve never tried. Believe it or not, the others aren’t exactly willing to shoot at me just so I can get some practice.” Orion suspected that Megatron had no such qualms, but he didn’t voice his suspicion. He just watched as Megatron bent over the stove, picked up an iron pot that he’d used to make pasta the night before, and hurled it at Windcharger’s head. The pot froze in midair inches in front of her forehead. 

“So you can stop a projectile,” Megatron noted. “Interesting.”

Windcharger shrugged. “It’s one pot, Megs. I don’t know if I can stop a barrage of bullets. And even if I can, it’ll be a fight-or-flight thing, meaning I can only do it if my life’s in danger. I can’t stop anyone else from getting shot.”

“Then just worry about yourself,” Megatron told her. 

Trailbreaker was the next issue. “I can basically do my forcefield thing on command,” they said. “It’s the placement that’s been a problem.”

“Doesn’t it usually center on yourself?” Orion asked. 

“ _ Usually.  _ It’s hard, though. I can sometimes pick a different spot, but not always the spot I wanted to pick. And then I can’t always take it down. And it’s not a forcefield you can get out of. It’s basically a prison I can summon out of thin air.”

Orion tapped his chin. “That seems problematic.”

Trailbreaker sighed. “I’ve been trying to get it all to work for years now, ever since I got out of Thyranotos. Before, even. My handlers were always so frustrated. I kept trapping them in bubbles.”

“It’ll be a last resort,” Megatron told him. “So long as you can throw it up when it needs to be thrown up, we’ll make the rest work.” 

Orion wished he shared Megatron’s confidence. When he’d first told him of the plan, he’d expected Megatron to doubt him, to say no. But his partner had agreed. Enthusiastically, even. “Of course,” Megatron had said. “Of course we’ll rescue Shockwave. This can be our first major strike against Thyranotos, the first step into making them fuck off for good.” It was only later that Orion realized that he’d  _ wanted _ Megatron to question the plan, because going through with it felt like too much a swan song, the last gasp of a shooting star. Megatron called it a ‘first,’ but Orion couldn’t help but feel like it would be the last.  _ The last what, though?  _ Orion wasn’t sure. Still, even if everything fell to pieces after this, he’d have Shockwave back. And that would be enough. He’d  _ make  _ it be enough. 

Glitch was the last issue. He had better control over his powers than Trailbreaker or Windcharger, which was good, because he’d be using them more. “The only thing is that it hurts if I do it too long,” he said. Jazz and Skids had made several trips to Tarn to pick up electronics for him to practice on. By the time heist planning was in full swing, he could suppress their functions rather than break them outright. “And if I’m in too much pain, I’ll EMP.” He pronounced EMP like ‘emp’ rather than ‘E-M-P’. EMPing was the purest expression of Glitch’s abilities: a blast wave of electromagnetic force that broke all but the most well-insulated electronics in the area. Like most expressions of the DNAgents’ powers, he did it automatically whenever he experienced intense emotions, but he could also do it on cue. If Glitch EMPed the Thyranotos facility, it would send everything into lockdown, hopefully delaying their potential pursuers. That was the cue: if the lights went off it would be time to run. 

And then there was everything else: Megatron and Orion would be disguised as janitors in order to get inside the building initially. They’d then let everyone else in. Megatron and Soundwave worked tirelessly on fabricating their uniforms, while Skids helped Veritas forge ID’s for them. The plan had to be flawless, so they all spent hours upon hours going over every minute detail, every possible scenario. It was exhausting, and only served to make Orion more and more unsure. Still, he didn’t voice his concerns. He owed it to Shockwave to make one last real effort to find them. He’d abandoned them to rot inside Thyranotos for too long. Besides, it was too late to turn back now. 

The heist ended up being scheduled for October. The night before everything was set to go down, Glitch told them a story. The DNAgents were understandably tight-lipped about what happened to them while inside Thyranotos, and this was the closest Orion had ever come to knowing what went on inside there.

“Most people didn’t know their mothers, but I did,” Glitch began, absently stirring honey into his tea with a spoon. “Most Thyranotos mothers died in childbirth or shortly after, but mine lived until I was seven years old. Thyranotos even let her spend time with me. Probably because my power was so volatile and I kept accidentally EMPing their equipment and her presence calmed me, but she was there. She even named me. Damus. 

“Brag about it,” Windcharger said, her head in her arms on the table. She looked tired. “‘ _ I’m Damus and I have a name given to me by my mom like a normal person _ ,’” she mimicked. 

“Don’t be rude,” Skids told her. 

Glitch yawned. “I get it. Do you want to hear a story she told me, Windcharger?”

“Yes,” Windcharger replied immediately. 

“It was about a little boy who lived in Tarn.” Megatron immediately perked up at that; little boys rarely lived in Tarn. Glitch didn’t seem to notice, however. As far as Orion knew, none of the DNAgents had ever heard about Megatron’s upbringing. “His mother used to tell him about a magic lamp hidden in the trash that could grant three wishes. Every day while his mother was at work, the little boy would search through the trash for it. He found all sorts of little treasures amongst the trash, but none of it was what he was looking for. None of it was the lamp.

“Until one day, he found it. Near the incinerator building in the center of the district. He ran all the way back to his house on the edge of the heaps, and he showed his mother when she got home.” Glitch laughed. “But it was the wrong kind of lamp. The mother had meant ‘lamp’ in the ancient sense, the kind that used oil. This was a regular electric table lamp.” 

Windcharger chuckled softly. Megatron cocked his head. 

“So there was no genie. The mother said, ‘Oh, son, there is no lamp or genie here. It was just a story.’ The little boy was disappointed, so she asked, ‘What would you have wished for?’ And the little boy replied, ‘For you to be happy, Mama.’ And then the mother held her son tightly in her arms and said, ‘I am happy. So long as I have you, I’m happy.’ And then, my mother held me in her arms and told me, ‘You are my only joy.’” Glitch looked lost, sad. Everyone in the room did. Especially Megatron. Orion wondered if he was thinking of Bex. Was he her only joy as well? 

“If she gave you your name, Damus, why do you go by Glitch now?” Veritas asked. 

“Simple, I wanted to fit in with these guys,” Glitch replied, punching Windcharger lightly on the arm. “They were all giving themselves cool names based on their powers, and I wanted one too.” 

“What was her name?” Megatron asked softly. “Your mother.” 

Glitch shook his head. “I never knew. The doctors only ever called her by her alphanumeric designation, same as the rest of us, and she was always Mama to me.” 

“What happened to her?”

Glitch’s shoulders drooped. “One day I got back to my room from the lab and she was just gone. They’d been trying to get her pregnant again for a while, but it hadn’t been taking, so I assume they just killed her once she stopped being useful to them. They had a tendency to do that.” 

It was a dour note for their last night before the heist to end on. Nobody said anything after that, the DNAgents went home, and one by one, everyone went to bed. Orion fell asleep next to Megatron without another word. His dreams were haunted by Shockwave. He watched, helpless and immobile, as faceless Thyranotos doctors pulled them apart, limb by limb, replacing each in turn with robotic parts until there was nothing left, finally replacing their head with a single, unblinking robotic eye. When the doctors released them from the restraints binding them to the operating table, they stood up and pointed their left hand, which had been replaced with a kind of strange cannon, and pointed it at Orion’s head. 

“Look what I’ve become,” they said, and then fired. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, but the next two chapters are quite dark. Keep that in mind going forward.


	32. Plate Tectonics, Part 3: Divergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major warning for this chapter for character death, though neither Orion nor Megatron will die.

In the past, if Megatron had seen Orion disguised as a janitor, he would’ve made a salacious joke about having a thing for men in uniform. But now they changed into their disguises together in silence, with Orion only casting furtive glances at his partner’s back. This heist would be make or break for their relationship, though he didn’t know which heist outcome meant they’d stay together. Maybe neither. Maybe there was something irreparable there, something irrevocably changed about Megatron, and Orion, too. He focused on Shockwave, the image of them from his dream make him feel weak, their single eye boring into his retinas seared into his brain. 

Soundwave drove Orion and Megatron to Thyranotos in the morning so that they could enter the premises alongside the real maintenance workers arriving for the morning shift. They’d let everyone in through the basement come nightfall. In the meantime, they sat in an unused storage closet, mostly in silence. Finally, Megatron broke that silence by saying, “To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock in a pestilential prison with a life-long lock, awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big, black block.” 

Orion looked at him strangely. “What the hell was that?” 

“Vocal warm up. Onyx was a big theater fan, and she got some of us—the gladiators, I mean—to put on one acts instead of fighting. Some thought it was beneath them, but I didn’t.” 

Orion burst out laughing. “You used to do  _ community theater? _ ”

“I wasn’t very good at it,” Megatron grumbled, though he looked at Orion fondly. 

“Poetry, community theater, next thing you’ll tell me is that you played the tuba in a marching band.” 

“It was the tenor saxophone,” Megatron said, sending Orion into another fit of laughter. Despite the dread that pressed down upon them, for a moment, the mood lightened. Maybe there was something salvageable here. 

But then again maybe not. The hours passed slowly, and Orion took to counting the specks of dirt on the ceiling tiles until night came, whereupon they exited the storage closet and let the others in. 

“Glitch, Skids, the security room is on the first floor,” Orion instructed. Then he handed them a pair of syringes similar to the one Megatron had used on their second heist. “You only get one shot at this.”

Skids took the syringes and handed one to Glitch. “Then we do it right the first time.” And then they were gone. Everyone waited with baited breath in the basement, listening for the all clear from Glitch and skids over their earpieces. “Got ‘em,” Glitch finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “I found the alarm system. Suppressing it now. Skids is overwriting the camera feeds and patching Knock Out into the cameras and Veritas into the general security system. You should be good to go in— _ now. _ ” 

On Glitch’s cue, everyone headed upstairs to the ground floor, dodging the security guards who still haunted the hallways. Orion recognized one of them from his first time on the Thyranotos campus and then Spectrum’s subsequent trial. It felt like eons ago. When they reached the stairwell that led from the first floor up to the others, Jazz stood up straight and threw Orion a half-joking salute. “See ya on the other side, ‘Rion.” Springarm and Wheelarch took hold of each of Orion’s hands, and Springarm held onto Roller with his other hand. 

“You’ll find them,” Springarm said. 

“I love you,” Roller told him, touching their foreheads together briefly. 

“I love you too.” 

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Orion said. 

Wheelarch smiled. “It ain’t no problem, Lieutenant. Cops, crooks, the world keeps spinning. We just have to do right by it.” And then he let go of Orion’s hand, took his brother by the arm, and followed Jazz, Trailbreaker, and Windcharger up the stairs. 

Megatron, Orion, and Roller all looked at each other and pulled their masks down. Everyone on site wore a mask. Megatron’s was a simple gray ski mask, Orion’s was a welder’s mask that used to be RPG’s, while Roller’s was a Halloween mask in the shape of a lion. They made their way to the elevator whose location Veritas had pointed out for them. “We’re approaching the lift now,” Orion told her over their earpieces. He placed his keycard up to the reader.

“Hacking through,” Veritas announced. “ _ There. _ ” The reader beeped and the elevator doors slid open. It was a big elevator, like the elevators in museums used for moving statues or paintings around. Orion didn’t like how big it was. Didn’t like what it needed to be that big for. He swiped the keycard again, Veritas hacked the elevator again, and Orion hit the button labeled ‘U3’, causing the elevator to lurch into motion. Each moment within was agonizing; the seconds felt like minutes, and the minutes felt like hours. How deep was this underground lab? If there had been a window in the elevator Orion was sure he’d have been able to see the Earth’s magmatic mantle. Finally, the elevator ground to a halt and the doors slid open. 

The lowest level of the facility was pitch black. “Would it kill them to put some lights down here?” Roller wondered aloud.

“Shh,” Orion hushed him. “I’m sure there are lights, they’re just not on for whatever reason.”

Megatron wordlessly clicked on his flashlight and scanned the walls. No sign of a light switch. That would likely alert someone to their presence anyway. Under the flashlight’s modest illumination, the hallway of U3 looked similar to the upstairs hallways. White walls, glass paneled doors, tile floor. Most of the visible rooms were laboratory spaces or operating rooms, all of which were unsurprisingly unoccupied. 

They continued down the hall, looking for room 21. As they got farther in, different sorts of rooms started appearing. These had no windows outside of small portholes in their doors, which were far more heavy duty than the doors to the labs. Orion shone his flashlight into one, peering through the glare of its reflection. It held a bed and a toilet, but nothing else. The bed had leather restraints attached to it. It was empty. He didn’t stop to look in any more rooms, only pressing forward, eyeing each and every room number. 

But Roller did stop to look. After the fourth cell door he’d checked he said, “Orion, Megs, these are all empty.”

“Does it matter?” Orion asked. 

“Yeah, I just—they have the facilities to accommodate dozens of people. So where is everybody?”

Orion’s heart sank, and he rushed forward. Feeling his way along the odd-numbered wall until he finally reached the cell labeled ‘21’. He jiggled the door handle. Surprisingly, it was unlocked.  _ That can’t be a good sign.  _ He hurled the door open. “Shockwave?” He knew the room was empty even before he swept the flashlight around it. No Shockwave. No sign of them at all. The room looked like it hadn’t been touched in months. He burst out of the room, pushing past Roller and Megatron and scouring every room. Every single one was unlocked, even the labs and operating rooms, and every single one was empty. The heavy doors slammed behind him, sending echoes ricocheting down the desolate hallway. “Shockwave!” he called again, pushing the desperation welling up in him back down his throat. “Shockwave!” No answer. He ran back to room 21, Roller and Megatron helpless as they looked on, Roller burying his masked face in his hands. Orion searched the room, overturning the hollow bed frame and even flushing the toilet, looking for any sign to where they might’ve gone, even pulling his mask off for greater visibility. Roller and Megatron joined him in the room. Roller was crying. Megatron looked lost. Orion sank down to his knees and called out his friend’s name one more time. “Shockwa—”

“You can quit your yelling, you know. They’re not here. They were moved out almost a year ago along with everyone else,” a voice said behind them, cool and detached. They whirled around to find a man standing there. He was short and slim, almost petite, with long, graceful fingers. He wore a set of deep burgundy scrubs that shrouded his small frame. 

“Who are you?” Orion demanded, standing up. 

“A doctor,” he answered, shrugging nonchalantly. “And if you’re looking for the good Councilor, then you must be—oh! You must be Orion Pax, their police officer friend.” His face lit up with a terrifying grin. “I have just heard so much about you! Shockwave talked about you  _ constantly _ . They were just so sure that you were coming to rescue them, even months later. Of course, they gave up eventually, but still. It was touching. And even more touching that they were proven right, even if you are too late.”

“Liar!” Orion roared, racing at the man, grabbing him by the collar of his scrubs and pinning him a foot off the ground against the opposite hallway wall. The doctor had clicked the lights on in the hallway, fully illuminating his grin in a harsh fluorescent glare. His smile only widened with Orion’s rage. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” 

“Where are they?” Orion demanded, his voice dangerously low. “You’d better tell the truth,  _ Doctor _ .”

The doctor cocked his head. “You want the truth? Here it is, God’s honest: no matter what I tell you, you will never, ever see them again.” 

Orion heaved another roar, though this one was half sob. He threw the doctor bodily down the hall, and he heard their shoulder crack against the ground. Roller reached out and held onto his arm. “Let’s go,” he said quietly, his voice tense and strained. Orion could hear the lump in the back of his throat. Orion had a similar one. 

At that moment, the lights clicked back off, dousing them in pitch blackness once more, only for them to click on again in an eerie shade of red. “What’s going on?” Orion demanded of the doctor.

The doctor coughed, then sputtered out, “I don’t know.”

“Orion, I don’t think that’s him. I think that’s us,” Roller said. He tapped his earpiece. “Glitch, Skids, what’s going on?”

The doctor choked out a laugh. “You brought them here too? You’re in for a bad time.” 

There was no reply from Glitch or Skids, but Soundwave said, “Glitch must’ve EMPed. It knocked out their comms. I’d get out of there. Now. All of you.” 

“Does the elevator work?” Megatron ask. 

“It should,” Veritas said. “The backup generators are powering all the elevators and the lights, but nothing else.” 

“We’re heading downstairs,” Jazz announced. “I’m looking out the window, maybe I can see what’s going on...oh no.”

“What is it?” Soundwave asked.

“Armed militia. Out in front of the building. ” 

The three of them bolted for the elevator. 

“If they got to Skids and Glitch, they must be on the ground floor already,” Orion said once the elevator doors had shut. “Everyone regroup in the basement,” he told the comms channel. “For the love of god don’t be seen.” 

The ride back up was just as painfully slow as the ride down, but to Orion’s intense relief, the entirety of the upstairs team was in the basement waiting for them. Trailbreaker clung to Windcharger’s arm, and upon seeing Roller, Springarm rushed over to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Then he and asked, “What happened with Shockwave? I heard over the comms that they weren’t there.” 

Roller looked down at his feet. “No one was there. None of their prisoners. They were all gone. The only person there was a Thyranotos doctor who taunted us.”

Orion nodded. “I suppose we should’ve figured that if he was here, others would be.” 

“What are we going to do now?” Trailbreaker asked. “We have to get out of here.” 

“All the exits are on the first floor except the basement trap door, unless you all want to jump out a window,” Veritas said in their ears. 

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Megatron said. “The trap door it is.” 

They made their way through the labyrinthine concrete halls of the basement until they reached the trap door. Windcharger stepped forward and pushed on the doors, flinging them upwards and outwards. A rush of cool night air greeted them, along with the barrels of several rifles. The men holding them were masked, and draped head to toe in black armor, and as soon as they locked eyes with the Descenticons they fired. Within a moment, Windcharger threw her hands up, and the bullets stopped in mid-air, frozen in space and time.

It was strange and incredible and  _ impossible _ . Orion had seen Windcharger use her powers before, but never to such an extent. Never to stop bullets. Never to stop  _ so many  _ bullets. They hung in the air, and Windcharger’s hands trembled under the strain of it. Sweat collected on her forehead. He didn’t know what would happen if she cracked now. Would the bullets fall to the floor uselessly? Or would they continue on their previously established path at all of their heads? He suspected Windcharger didn’t know either. The militia, too, seemed shocked at this development. He couldn’t see their faces under their masks, but he was pretty sure he heard one of them gasp. But one recovered faster than the others and fired again. The blast was deafening, and it sent a bullet screeching out of the gun and towards Windcharger, penetrating her magnetic field and finding a home in her stomach. 

 Everything happened at once. Windcharger cried out in pain, clutching her stomach, blood spurting from between her fingers. She doubled over and dropped to her knees, the bullets in front of her clattering to the floor, like metal rain on the concrete. Trailbreaker cried out her name, “Windcharger!” They’d already lost two friends this evening. They reached out for her, a little orange ball building in their palm, signaling that they were about to release their forcefield. It formed around Windcharger’s crumpled form, cutting her off from everyone else, and cutting the everyone in the hallway off from the soldiers. Bullets bounced off of it, sending little orange sparks dissipating into the ether. 

Trailbreaker realized instantly what they’d done. They collapsed to their knees in front of the forcefield, pressing their hands to it, even though they’d once told Orion that it stung to touch. “Wincharger?” they whispered. 

Wincharger sat up, her shirt covered in blood. It dripped onto the ground between her knees. She looked behind her. 

The soldiers all looked at each other before one said, “We’ll have to go around. Let’s move.” And then they were gone. 

Windcharger turned back to Trailbreaker. “You have to go,” she choked out. 

“They’ll get you,” they replied. 

“If you don’t leave they’ll get you too. And kill everyone else.” She smiled, though it clearly hurt to do so. She pressed her hands against the forcefield, mirroring Trailbreaker’s stance and wincing a little. “Go. I love you. I’ll escape this time. I have better control over my powers. They won’t know what to expect. Go. I’ll see you again. Go.” 

And Trailbreaker did. Storming away from their forcefield and Windcharger and towards the stairs out of the basement. Orion looked behind him, and Wincharger threw him a little wave before collapsing back onto the ground. His heart ached. Another sacrifice.  _ How many more will there be? How many more?  _

They managed to get upstairs before the soldiers arrived, hiding in an unlocked conference room on the first floor. 

“What now?” Wheelarch asked in a whisper. 

“We need to find an unblocked exit. We have guns, but we’re ridiculously underpowered otherwise,” Orion said. 

“We could take some of their guns,” Jazz suggested. “That’d help.”

Just then a voice came from outside the lab. “Everyone, split up. They can’t have gotten far. Cover all exits.” 

Orion tapped his earpiece. “Knock Out, Veritas, what are the cameras like? Which exit is the least covered?” 

“Glitch knocked out all of the indoor cameras,” Knock Out replied. “But the outdoor ones seem to still be working. And it looks like there’s one exit with only two guards covering it. It’s on the north side of the building, near the basement trap door.” 

“If we’re good enough at sneaking, we won’t have to deal with anyone in between here and there,” Orion said. “But there are still two armored, rifle-toting guards waiting for us at our best chance at escape.” 

“We should split up,” Jazz said. “Big groups are conspicuous. And I have an idea. Megatron, remember that thing you said about jumping out a window?”

“About how I wouldn’t recommend it?” 

“What do you say we try it anyway?” 

Between the darkness of the hallways and the smaller party, it was easier than expected to sneak towards the exits unnoticed. Based on what he saw, there were fewer soldiers than Orion had initially feared; there were maybe twenty or so. The soldiers were also clunky and loud, walking with careless chatter and heavy footsteps, giving the gang more than enough time to hide upon their approach. And soon they’d reached the door. Through its glass paneling, they could see the two soldiers, one facing towards them, one facing away. 

Orion tapped his earpiece. “When you’re ready, Jazz and Megatron.”

“Of course,” Jazz said. “Let’s go.” 

Orion made a motion, and the five of them stormed towards the door. He threw it outward, slamming it into one of the guards’ faces. The guard stumbled backwards and the other whirled around, not even hesitating before firing. The bullet whizzed past Orion’s cheek and Orion turned around just in time to see it slam into Wheelarch’s skull. He didn’t think to reach for him, to go to him. He knew that Wheelarch was dead before he’d even hit the ground. Springarm leapt forward, howling at the guard. The guard re-aimed his rifle, preparing to fire again. At that very moment, Megatron and Jazz came sailing down from the window above them. Jazz landed on the guard who was still reeling from the door to the face while Megatron landed on the guard who was aiming at Springarm just as he fired. Megatron knocked his gun down as the bullet exited the chamber. Springarm spiraled out of the way, just barely too late. The bullet skimmed the inside of his thigh, sending blood flying everywhere, before burying itself in the ground behind them. 

Springarm stumbled backwards into Roller’s arms. The guard engaged with Jazz fired at her but missed, and Jazz took the opportunity to grab his gun by the barrel, hissing against the pain of its heat on her bare hands, and pull it away. Then she swung it like a baseball bat, clocking him across the face and causing him to collapse to the ground. Megatron aimed his pistol directly at his guards head and fired, killing him instantly. He fell to one knee, cursing. “I think I broke my ankle.”

Springarm was pulling Roller towards Wheelarch’s body. “He’s my brother, oh  _ god _ , he’s my brother,” he whimpered. 

“We have to go,” Roller told him, pulling him away from his brother’s corpse and towards the place where they planned to meet Soundwave. “You’re bleeding so much, love.” 

Springarm was bleeding a scary amount. The bullet hadn’t even embedded itself in him. He reached down to touch his wound, and his hand came away completely soaked and red with blood. “Roller,” he said. “I need to lie down.” 

Roller obliged, lowering him slowly onto the soft grass and holding his head in his lap. 

Orion approached him and took a look at his leg. It was bleeding  _ so much _ . Orion had never seen that much blood come out of one person before. “Knock Out, what am I looking at here? Springarm was shot in the leg, and he’s bleeding a lot.” 

“Where in the leg?” Knock Out asked. Orion could hear the apprehension in his voice. 

“The inner thigh,” Orion answered. 

“How much blood?”

“More than there should be.”

“Orion, Roller, I’m sorry. I think the bullet must have hit the femoral artery.”

“How much time?” Orion asked, his voice jumping into a hoarse whisper.

“Minutes.” 

Springarm closed his eyes, heaving a deep, shuddering breath. Roller was crying and cradling him in his arms. “Springarm,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I dragged you into all this.” 

“Roller,” Springarm said back.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Roller said again. 

Springarm opened his eyes. He reached up and caressed Roller’s face, leaving streaks of blood down his cheek with three fingers. “I forgive you,” he murmured. And then he was gone. 

Orion was frozen in place. He’d done so wrong by them. All three of them. And now Springarm and Wheelarch were dead, and he could never, ever make it up to them. Jazz reached out and put her hand on Roller’s shoulder. “We have to go,” she said gently but firmly. 

Roller shook his head and buried his face into Springarm’s unmoving chest. “No. You go. I’m staying.”

“Why?” Orion asked. “Roller, I—”  _ need you _ . But that didn’t seem fair. He’d gotten Roller’s only other friends killed. “Why?”

“To give you time. If they arrest me, maybe they won’t come after you.”

“Why would they arrest you? They’ve killed everyone else!” 

“Because I’ll be surrendering. Because it doesn’t matter. Because it won’t matter if I lose you too.” 

“Roller—”

Just then, they heard a voice from around the side of the building call, “This way! I heard gunshots! And Dropshadow and Outline aren’t responding!” 

“Go,” Roller said, his voice steady and firm. 

“Not without y—”

“Go! Now!  _ RUN! _ ” 

Jazz grabbed Orion by the arm and they ran.


	33. Oil and Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! Second to last chapter yeesh. 
> 
> This chapter contains a fist fight that is longer and more visceral than other combat sequences have been so far.

Orion helped Megatron limp through the door into 113 West James before dropping him unceremoniously in a kitchen chair. His bones felt hollow and his blood felt thin. Knock Out rushed to Megatron’s side to attend to his injuries. Luckily, Megatron’s broken ankle was the only major injury any of the remaining party had sustained. Unluckily, well. Everything else. 

“What happened?” Veritas asked softly. 

Orion shook his head. “I don’t know. They moved all the prisoners to another location. I don’t know why. And then they were ready for us. Somehow. Wincharger, Glitch, and Skids are gone. Springarm and Wheelarch are dead. Roller—I don’t know.” And that was the long and short of it. The words made his tongue go numb as soon as he spoke them. He couldn’t process the concept that his three best friends were dead, or likely dead, and that everything he’d done since joining Megatron had been for nothing. He couldn’t even weep for Springarm or Wheelarch, only stand there, stones filling up his atria and ventricles with each pump of his heart. 

It seemed the rest of the room felt the same way. Knock Out and Megatron, at least, had the distraction of tending to Megatron’s ankle. Knock Out worked quickly, with surprising skill and efficiency, setting the ankle in a splint and then binding it securely. Nobody else moved or spoke. Orion looked at Megatron. He looked detached. Unphased, even. He didn’t even look like he was in pain, in spite of the way Knock Out was pushing his ankle into the proper position. Something tugged at the back of Orion’s mind, a fishhook, a gnawing insect. He batted it away, pushed it down below his consciousness, the way he had for so many months now, but not before he recognized it for what it was: rage. Hot and writhing. Had the Thyranotos doctor been here, maybe he would’ve had a proper place to direct it. But he wasn’t. And so he didn’t. 

After Megatron was done getting his ankle wrapped, Knock Out helped him limp into their room, sitting him down on the bed. Orion, nowhere else to go, followed shortly after. He didn’t know what to say. He took off his jacket and heavily considered changing into his pajamas, though he didn’t make a move to.  _ Will this be how it is? Forever? Cold silences and hot anger boiling underneath an icy surface?  _

Megatron, honest as ever, said, more eloquently, “Are we fucked?”

Orion looked down at him, not moving. “You tell me.”

“What a diplomatic answer. I’m telling you that it’s well and truly up to you. You were the driving force behind what happened, after all.” 

The rage flared up again behind Orion’s retinas. “Are you blaming me?”

“ _ You tell me, _ ” Megatron scoffed. Then: “I’m stating facts. You wanted to go after Shockwave. It’s been your sole purpose ever since they were taken. No matter how many times it didn’t work out for you.”

The rage was bubbling to the surface now. Orion opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

“You never let go, do you? You lost Shockwave, and you just couldn’t stop trying to get them back. You wanna know what I think? You need to let go of your massive messiah complex and get some goddamn perspective.” 

“Messiah complex?” Orion almost laughed. “You’re the one who cooked up this fantastic  _ revolution _ . You’re the one who wanted to save the city from itself.” 

“I wanted— _ want  _ to save the city. But even I know that I can’t save everyone in it.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t  _ try! _ ” Orion exclaimed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“There’s ‘trying’ and then there’s ‘throwing yourself at a brick wall over and over again.’ Eventually, you’re going to hurt yourself. And you have. Multiple times. You trying to alleviate your guilt just compounds it as more and more people die.”

“It’s better than having no guilt at all! When Starbright died, when Blackpowder was taken, when RPG got hurt, when Crash died, you did nothing! You barely even grieved! The closest you came to reacting to any of the tragedies we’ve experienced was putting a bullet in Galvatron’s head, and we all know you only did  _ that  _ because the two of you were fucking obsessed with each other. Remember: Starbright died to save  _ your  _ life.  _ You  _ didn’t settle the score with Galvatron  _ before  _ someone got hurt.  _ You  _ made the executive decision not to go after Blackpowder.  _ You  _ have blood on your hands, and it isn’t just Galvatron’s.”

Now Megatron was angry too, his cool veneer melting away in a flash. “What, are you going to blame me for Springarm’s death too? Because I was the one who misdirected the shot that killed him?”

“Don’t you dare bring him into this!” Orion shouted. 

“That’s your problem: you’re still holding on. You hold on and hold on and you never let go and your guilt is  _ killing  _ you, love. But you have to push forward. Sacrifices  _ must  _ be made. And those sacrifices will only matter if you see the other side.”

“If you consider every sacrifice  _ necessary _ , if every death is just a means to your end, no matter how lofty that end is, no matter how idealistic your dream,” Orion hissed, “you don’t deserve to see the other side.”

“You have no idea what I’ve seen,” Megatron growled, and Orion could tell that the only thing preventing Megatron from standing up and getting in his face was his broken ankle. “You have no idea what this all has cost me. Me, personally. But I press forward. Because I  _ will  _ reach my goal.”

Orion leveled his eyes with Megatron’s. “Then answer me this: how many more?”

Megatron’s mouth was a thin, hard line. “As many as it takes.” 

Orion was at the end of his rope. Every word between them was another burn. His blood was boiling, and if his skin caught fire he wouldn’t be surprised. He looked at Megatron, and the tears that had eluded him all night sprung to his eyes. He blinked them back rapidly. He loved Megatron  _ so much _ , and yet in this moment he  _ hated  _ him. And that spiral, love and hate twisting together like opposing winds, hurt. It  _ hurt _ . 

And Orion lunged at him, tackling him off the bed and onto the floor. 

“Get  _ off! _ ” Megatron howled, slugging at Orion and clocking him square in the jaw. 

Orion reeled back, and Megatron scrambled across the floor, winding up for another swing. Even with his foot in a cast he was still fast and smart. He winced in pain as he braced his foot against the floor and sprung forward, tackling Orion back against the door. Orion swung his elbow back and then cracked Megatron across the nose, sending a spurt of blood down his arm. Megatron hardly pulled back, though, instead choosing to sock Orion in the stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs. Orion reached up and, linking his fingers together, swung down and hit Megatron over the head. Now Megatron fell back, giving Orion the time to stumble to his feet. Megatron, too, pushed himself upwards, leaning heavily on the wall and on his right foot, before leaping at Orion. 

Orion caught Megatron by the face and fist before said fist could make contact, and promptly shoved his hand away. Orion moved his other hand off of Megatron’s face and into his hair and pulled. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that to Megatron, but it was maybe the last. It was certainly the ugliest version of that maneuver. His fingers were dirty on Megatron’s skin, and Megatron’s skin was oily and sweaty under Orion’s fingers. Hot, too. The whole room was overheating. It felt like a furnace. They pushed on each other like children do when they fight, when they test one another’s limits in a way that’s not quite playful anymore. It wasn’t playful at all to Orion. His anger was heartbreakingly real, and it demanded action. 

Lost in the moment, neither of them heard the door to their room open, nor did they pay any mind to the shouts of those who came through it. It was only when Orion felt cool fingers slip around his arms and yank him backwards that he noticed Jazz and Soundwave. 

“Your ankle is  _ broken _ , you  _ colossal moron! _ ” Soundwave was shouting, struggling to push Megatron back as he swung furiously to get another hit in on Orion. 

“Stop!  _ Stop! _ ”Jazz begged simultaneously, pulling backwards on Orion. Orion felt another hand on his shoulder and then he watched as Trailbreaker leapt forward, leaning over Jazz to throw out their forcefield, ensnaring Megatron and Soundwave within. 

“ _ Get out! _ ” Megatron roared, his eyes ablaze through the orange screen of the forcefield. “ _ Get out of my house! _ ” 

“As if I’d stay here with you!” Orion shouted back. He grabbed his backpack off the ground and began to stuff his few belongings inside. Once he was done, he stormed out of the room and out the front door, Jazz, Trailbreaker, and Veritas following behind him, and Knock Out watching him go through the doorway. That was fine. He’d never liked Knock Out anyhow. 

“Where are we going?” Jazz asked. 

_ Anywhere but here.  _ “I have a set of spare keys to Roller, Springarm, and Wheelarch’s apartment,” Orion told her. “4122 Mojave Drive. Meet me there.” 

As he climbed into the driver’s seat of his car, Veritas approached him and leaned on the car door. “I’m not coming with you,” she said. 

Orion wasn’t really surprised, but he still asked, “Why not?”

“RPG’s being released from Bellaire in two days. I’m going to pick her up and then we’re going to leave.”

“Where are you going?” 

“To the desert. I should’ve left when Spectrum left, and I should’ve left when Sketch left. I’m amending that now.” Her face was tired and sad. “I was too caught up in everything that happened to realize that I needed to hang on to what I care about. What exists right now. What we’ve lost matters, Orion. The dead matter. But they’ll never matter as much as the living.” She pushed off the car door and said, “Good luck. Maybe I’ll see you around.” And then she walked away. 

It had been awhile since Orion had been in Roller, Springarm, and Wheelarch’s shared apartment. For a long time now it had been their place to get away from him and his drama. It didn’t quite look abandoned just yet. Dishes still sat unwashed in the sink. Wheelarch’s lucky jacket hung over the back of one of the chairs in the living room. Orion picked it up and put it in the closet. He knew that Springarm hated it when his brother left things lying around. The atmosphere felt strained, exhausted. Stretched to the point of tearing. Orion pulled the blinds down, blocking out the ugly orange light from the street lamps outside. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Trailbreaker offered. “If you two want the bedrooms. I probably won’t be able to go to sleep for a little while.” Nevermind that Trailbreaker looked exhausted, and that all of the DNAgents got worn out when they used their powers. Orion didn’t say anything.

He took Springarm and Roller’s room while Jazz took Wheelarch’s. After sitting on the end of their bed for a long moment he rose and began to unpack his bag. He folded his clothes and stacked them neatly on the chair across from the bed. And then, at the bottom of his backpack, he found something. It was a journal, bound in teal leather. He thought it was Megatron’s, it had to be, until he opened it. On the inside cover, in the sloppy handwriting of a left-handed child, read, “TO BIG SUNFLOWER, LOVE, SKETCH,” with a little heart drawn next to it. Orion had no idea he’d had Starbright’s journal this whole time. He flipped through it. It was full of a mix of journal entries, doodles, and scraps of poetry. There were even clippings from books taped in. 

One scrap was entitled, “ _ V. What the Thunder Said, _ ” and read, “After the torchlight red on sweaty faces/After the frosty silence in the gardens/After the agony in stony places/The shouting and the crying/Prison and palace and reverberation/Of thunder of spring over distant mountains/He who was living is now dead/We who were living are now dying/With a little patience”. Underneath, in Starbright’s messy, half-cursive script, was written, “ The Waste Land  by TS Eliot. Megatron recommends.” Orion flipped further into the book until he found another clipping, this one of a whole poem. It wasn’t taped in, and it fell out of the book as Orion turned the pages that contained it and fluttered across the floor like a butterfly with a broken wing. He scrambled to scoop it up and read it:

 

“Sonnet 40

 

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;

What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?

No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;

All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.

Then if for my love thou my love receivest,

I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;

But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest

By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.

I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,

Although thou steal thee all my poverty;

And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief

To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.

Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,

Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.” 

 

When he was done reading, Orion tucked the poem back into Starbright’s journal and placed the journal gently on Roller’s dresser. Then he dug back into his bag to pull his toiletries out and put them in the bathroom. Down the hall from the bathroom, he could see Trailbreaker at the kitchen table, drinking a beer. They must’ve found Wheelarch’s supply. He didn’t stop them, though, only brushed his teeth and returned to his room. He curled up on top of Springarm and Roller’s bedspread. Across the hall, he could hear Jazz blasting music. He realized after a little while that it was her own music that she was playing. He’d never heard her play her own music before. In fact, she’d previously seemed to have a certain distaste for it. Either way, he was thankful for the noise in the otherwise silent apartment. 

As his eyes closed and his mind slipped towards sleep, he didn’t think of anyone he’d lost that day, though he wondered briefly about Thyranotos. They’d known they were coming, somehow. Maybe not when they were coming, or what their goal was, but they’d known. How? Had there been a mole in their group? None of their members really fit the bill. It couldn’t have been Springarm or Wheelarch or Jazz or Roller or any of the DNAgents. It couldn’t have been Megatron. Even Knock Out or Soundwave, who’d never been his biggest fans, didn’t seem like the type. Soundwave was loyal and forthright, and Knock Out simply didn’t have the smarts. So maybe there hadn’t been a mole. Maybe Thyranotos had just always been two steps ahead of them for no specific reason, and they’d never had a prayer. 

Orion banished those thoughts from his mind. He would press forward. He would make this work, even if he had to make it work alone. The wall hummed with Jazz’s music, and as he drifted off to sleep, he felt as lonely as he had ever been. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make the M/OP split more interpersonal than political for story theme reasons, and also because I'm not very good at writing politics and unlike most Transformers writers I understand that about myself.


	34. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, this months-long endeavor draws to a close. I hope you all have enjoyed the ride. 
> 
> Warnings for discussions of medical abuse this chapter.

Soundwave had to talk Megatron out of texting Orion several, several times. “From what you’ve told me, you’ve been having the same argument for years,” she told him. “He’s never going to understand. Take your own advice. Let go.” Eventually, he did, but not before Soundwave stole his phone and deleted Orion, Trailbreaker, and Jazz’s contact information. He eventually deleted the contacts of those they’d lost inside Thyranotos on his own as well. 

So that was the end of that. Sort of. At least for Megatron. Soundwave never could bring herself to delete any of their old friends’ contacts, whether they were dead or kidnapped or just living somewhere else now. Late at night when she was lying in bed, curled around Ravage and Missile Launcher, she admitted to herself that she missed them, though that admission was always gone by the time morning came. She missed Jazz especially. Sometimes, on those late, lonely nights, she’d even take out her phone and read through her and Jazz’s last texts, or compose a text to Jazz, only to delete it before sending it. Why had Jazz been so enamored with Orion? Why had she left with him instead of staying? Soundwave would never understand. 

All that emotional gobbledygook aside, things were going surprisingly well. The Decepticons—that’s what they’d been calling themselves, as a little dig at Galvatron and his refusal to remember their group’s name—were more or less pushing forward. They’d been recruiting heavily, drawing particularly on the dissolved Myriad. Lugnut had been the first they’d found. He was a woman who owed Megatron a life debt, which he was far more enthusiastic about than Soundwave had ever seen anyone be concerning a life debt. Strika was Lugnut’s girlfriend, and she’d joined to keep him out of trouble. She seemed a good deal smarter than the other two, especially when it came to strategy, and Soundwave liked her best. 

Knock Out had known Breakdown from when they were teenagers, and Knock Out was overjoyed to be reunited with his friend, whom he’d lost contact with during their respective stints in the Myriad. The three were bruisers, which was a good starting point for any gang. 

There was also Blitzwing, a weapons engineer, mechanic, and former Bellaire patient. It was clear from the get-go that they had a screw loose, or five, but they were talented, so it didn’t really matter. Swindle had once been friendly, or friendly-ish, with Megatron, and though he was still a con man at heart he’d also become a talented forger in his own right. Finally, there was Starscream, the first person to request to join their cause rather than be asked by Megatron or Soundwave herself. 

That had taken some convincing. Starscream was a scientist, and he’d been interned at Raven Microcybernetics before working briefly at Thyranotos.

“We don’t need anyone from Thyranotos here,” Megatron had said. 

“He knows cybernetics, which are a feature of our new reality  _ and  _ something no one here really understands,” Soundwave had argued. “And he says he can recreate some of the DNAgents’ abilities using robotics rather than biotech.” 

That had caught Megatron’s attention, and soon Starscream was on board. Megatron’s fascination with the DNAgents remained as powerful as ever, and his desire to find those who remained took precedence over a lot of things. Skywarp and Thundercracker had vanished not long after their final heist as Descenticons, but Soundwave kept her ear to the ground for them. 

One day Starscream came to her and said, “You know how Megatron wants me to make those cybernetically-enhanced superheroes?”

“I mean, he certainly wants you to try, yes,” Soundwave replied. 

“Good news on that front. Thyranotos is doing the same thing.”

Soundwave almost spit out her water. “ _ What?  _ How is that good news? And how do you know?”

“You’re not the only one with connections, Soundwave,” he said. “And it’s good news because it means we can steal their research.” 

“Right. And how do you plan on doing that? We don’t have a hacker yet.”

“We don’t need to steal the physical research, we just need to steal a research _ er _ .” 

Now that was clever. Soundwave admitted to herself that she’d initially found Starscream to be intelligent but not particularly  _ clever _ . Not the best at reading people. Not the most common sense. But he was proving her wrong, little by little. She admired that about him. “And do you have a particular Thyranotos employee in mind?”

“Yes, though I wouldn’t call them an employee.” 

“Good. Then we bring your idea to Megatron.”

“Go right ahead.”

“It was your idea. You should tell Megatron about it.” 

Starscream laughed. “Ha! No.”

“Why not?”

“Megatron doesn’t care what  _ I  _ think.” 

“Of course he cares what you think. You’re a valued member of this team! And it was  _ your  _ idea.” That was probably a lie. Soundwave of course knew that Megatron tended to go out of his way to avoid interacting with Starscream. But that could change. Starscream was smart, and overall  _ useful _ . Megatron liked useful. 

They went to Megatron together while he was sitting in the living room of Galvatron’s apartment. It was the perfect place to set up shop, really. Comfortable and functional. No sign of Cyclonus or Arcee there, but plenty of room for people to stay. 

“Megatron, Starscream has an idea for you,” Soundwave announced as she walked up behind him.

“Who’s Starscream?” Megatron asked without looking up from what he was reading. 

Starscream shot her a look, and Soundwave dragged a hand down her face.

Megatron turned around. “Oh, right. You. What’s the idea?”

Starscream explained it. To Soundwave’s relief, Megatron was mostly intrigued. “So this is a scientist?” he asked. 

“Not exactly,” Starscream said. “A patient. They were a programmer in their former life if I recall correctly, which might help with our hacker problem, and now they’re—something else. A programmer still, perhaps. They were experimented upon, then they elected to help with further experimentation. And now that Thyranotos is moving on to other things, they’ve been let go. They’re staying in a motel in Polyhex, on the edge of the city.” 

“What’s their name?” 

“I only know their patient designation, S2P-011.” 

Polyhex looked like it was about to follow the path of its neighbor, Tetrahex in being abandoned and left to be consumed by the desert rust. Its streets were empty and covered in sand, and its buildings were largely boarded up. The only building that seemed to still be breathing was a motel, its flickering neon sign announcing it to be the Angels’ Camp Motel. 

“Room 12,” Starscream told them as they pulled up. 

They approached and knocked on the door. A moment later someone opened it. They were overdressed for the hot desert sun, in a purple hoodie and a purple beanie tucked over their short, uneven hair. Soundwave had almost expected to recognize them, but she didn’t. Then again, most of their face was covered, partly by a makeshift eye patch made out of brown fabric and a white medical mask on the lower half of their face. “Can I help you?” they asked. 

“Are you S2P-011?” Megatron asked. 

“My name is Shockwave,” they told him. And then it all clicked. 

Soundwave opened her mouth to speak, but Megatron beat her to it. “Ah. I knew a friend of yours.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Orion Pax.”

“Oh. Well, I have to say that I’m quite a bit different than I was the last time he and I spoke.” Shockwave pulled their beanie off, untied their eyepatch, and removed their medical mask. Their face was well over a third cybernetics. Their lower jaw had been replaced entirely with metal and their eye and the skin around it were gone, replaced by something that didn’t really look much like an eye and glowed bright yellow. “How is he?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Megatron replied. “He and I parted ways a while ago. But we’re not here to talk about him. I’ve come to make you an offer.” 

Shockwave agreed to the offer far more quickly than Soundwave had expected. “I know a lot about cybernetics now,” they said. “And about Thyranotos. I believe I wouldn’t mind working with you.” 

Soundwave had heard Orion talk about Shockwave once. He’d described them as fiercely compassionate and loving, funny and warm. This was not that Shockwave at all.  _ What happened to them?  _ On their way back to the car, Soundwave kept looking back at Shockwave. They were lucid, certainly, but distant. Not all there, in an entirely different way than Blitzwing wasn’t all there. They walked slowly and methodically, but didn’t seem to really take in their surroundings. As they reached the car and she opened the door for them, she noticed that tears were streaming out of their remaining eye, though they otherwise had no expression on their face. 

“You’re crying,” she pointed out before she could stop herself. 

“I am?” They hadn’t even realized. They brushed the tears away and looked at their wet fingers. It was then that Soundwave noticed that both their arms had also been replaced by robotics. “How odd,” they said. Then they got in the car. 

“Yeah,” Soundwave said, her eyebrows knitting together. Their conduct hurt to watch. “Odd.” She climbed into the shotgun seat. After a few miles of silence, she asked, “So, how did you escape Thyranotos?”

“I didn’t,” Shockwave replied. “I requested to be released, and they let me go.”

That bombshell rocked the car into silence before Soundwave finally asked, “Why?”

“A few reasons. I hadn’t been a true prisoner in a little over a year. My condition allowed me to be a valuable asset to their continuing research, but when my project ended, they had no more use for me. Besides, I think they want to study how I behave when reintegrated with society. Speaking of which, they’ve placed a tracking chip in my left arm.”

“We’ll remove it,” Megatron said. 

“And when you say your condition, you mean—?” Soundwave asked tentatively. Megatron shot her a glare. She ignored it.

“My affect. The way I’ve been changed on an emotional-cognitive level. The technical term is mnemosurgery, but it’s a bit of a misnomer, as my memories are completely intact. The patients all called it shadowplay. It was what you were threatened with if you misbehaved. Of course, in my case they actually followed through.” They spoke about this ‘shadowplay’ with such serenity; it was unnerving. “I suppose I am thankful that they did what they did. If they hadn’t, I would be experiencing almost unbearable amounts of grief, pain, and rage.” 

Soundwave decided to stop asking questions after that, instead leaning on the window and looking out at the desert. She wasn’t really surprised that Shockwave came all the way out here after being released. Maybe it was the only place they’d ever be free, and who was Megatron to drag them right back into the city? Maybe this was the only place anyone would ever be free, no matter how hard they tried. Maybe amorality and greed was just sunk into the bones of Cybertron, of Enwai-C, of Velocitron, of every city-state in North America, and they couldn’t ever fix it. The best they could do was just walk into the desert and desiccate. She shook her head. No. Soundwave had to hope, because if she didn’t have hope she’d have nothing. She looked at Shockwave in the rearview mirror. Perhaps, even through their shadowplay, they had come to the same conclusion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll hopefully be posting the first chapter of the sequel next Monday as usual, though I won't resume my regular update schedule until the whole thing is finished. I just want to establish that there will *be* a sequel, and set up some of the rules of the world as it's progressed since this moment in Die Happy.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me this long! I sincerely hope that I've not disappointed you.


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